


i built my world around you

by leighbot



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Cheating, Con Artists, Explicit Sexual Content, Heartbreakers AU, Idiots in Love, Imposters AU, Lies, M/M, Panties, Zayn in Lingerie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-05-23 03:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14926160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighbot/pseuds/leighbot
Summary: "We’re not doing this in bloody Mallorca,” Louis hisses over the line.“Louis, listen to me.”“No. Are you forgetting what I’ve told you? The richer people are, the more suspicious. They’re not going to let us get that close.”Or, aHeartbreakersAU with Louis and Zayn as the con artists and Harry as their mark. Kind of.





	1. like a flower waiting to bloom

**Author's Note:**

> Day thirteen! (I've got two hours left so it counts, I promise!). I've been working on this fic for a bit now and got more serious about it over the last two weeks. I have no update schedule at this time but I will do my best to have another part up before the end of the month. (Edited to add: I apparently lied and I will try even harder going forward)
> 
> For anyone who has seen the movie Heartbreakers or the tv series Imposters, this fic is a marriage of the two. For anyone who has not, this fic features Louis and Zayn as con artists who marry for money, "catch" their new spouses in compromising positions and force expedited divorces that find them in a new city before the previous spouse has figured out they've been conned. AS SUCH, the first scene will use fake names and will feature Zayn/Liam. That pairing is NOT Liam's endgame and this fic WILL be focused solely on Zayn/Harry in future chapters. We just have to get through the beginning first :)
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> Work title from Alison Krauss and chapter titles from Norah Jones.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Zayn’s running late. On any other day, that wouldn’t be a big deal- it’s honestly part of his charm, he thinks- but Louis will kill him completely dead if he messes up today. He’s been working at the chop shop for about three months- the longest job he’s held in years- and he can’t afford to get fired now.

Not when they’re finally at the end.

He’s hardly the last one there when he rushes in, the parking lot nearly empty and only a few employees milling about.

“Is Mr. Payne here yet?” he asks the receptionist, trying to hide how breathless he is. The closest bus stop is ages away from the shop and he’d taken it at a jog.

“Which one?” Sherry asks with a coy smile, leaning forward and winking.

Zayn smiles back, charm and good humour slipping over him like a mask. “The one who signs my checks,” he responds, shifting so it appears as if he’s leaning in to her as well.

“They’re both probably having a lie-in, if you know what I mean.”

 _Not likely_ , he thinks but doesn’t say. “I’ll just go up to his office and pretend like I’ve been here awhile, then.”

“Come back and talk to me if you get bored, Cal,” Sherry calls out to his retreating back.

“Will do,” he lies in response.

Liam’s office is meticulously organised- every leaf of paper lined up perfectly in piles and files organised and stacked around the room. His desk is beautiful- hand carved out of Lacewood and designed to be impressive- and the furniture that surrounds it is all complementary and picked specifically to show it off.

Zayn knows- he’d helped to design it. The piece had cost a fortune- he’d made sure of it- but Louis had been taking too long and Zayn was desperate to get out of Wolverhampton. Winter was close and he had no plans to freeze to death in his tiny, windowless flat with no cable and shitty wifi reception. Threatening to spend all of Liam’s money had been the fire Louis had needed to close the deal.

Unable to resist the urge, Zayn shuffles closer to the desk. There’s a pile of paperwork near the corner- all files of car parts their ‘clients’ are in need of- and Zayn reaches a hand out. With a small smile, he nudges at the top of the stack, shifting the first few pages a hint to the left. Liam will see and correct it immediately- might even know Zayn had done it on purpose- but it’s a harmless action and gives him a small sense of satisfaction.

There’s a pen holder near the empty space where Liam’s laptop normally sits with nothing but blue Bic Round Stic ballpoint pens in it. Zayn can immediately tell two are missing- possibly they had gone dry or Liam had stuck one behind his ear and walked off with it- and he pulls one out of the storage drawer along with one green, thin colored pencil. He places both in the holder, the pencil sticking out in a comically obvious way, and has just cast his eyes around for something else to mess with when he hears footsteps on the stairs.

He turns his head just as Liam walks through the door. Liam stops short when he sees Zayn, a seemingly reluctant smile crossing his face.

“Morning, Cal. I didn’t know you were up here.”

“I was just setting things up,” Zayn says.

“ _Messing_ things up, is more likely,” Liam returns, his gaze lingering on Zayn’s for several seconds too long before he seems to come back to himself and leaves the doorway. He hangs his coat and hat on the rack in the corner, placing his messenger bag on his seat long enough to empty it of his wallet, phone and laptop.

Zayn doesn’t need to stand and watch in order to know Liam’s routine. He steps over to the Keurig along one of the walls, popping in Liam’s preferred hot cocoa and knowing that Liam is taking his seat at the ornate desk. Liam will put his wallet in the top drawer to his left, his phone in the charging base to his right and his laptop will take the prime position in the middle, directly in front of Liam’s seat.

When the cocoa is made and Zayn sneaks in a few marshmallows, he grabs the mug in his hand and turns to face the room. Seeing Liam sitting catatonic-like in his chair with his wallet, phone and even his keys in front of him and not in their usual places fills Zayn with something like happiness. He thinks to himself that Louis must have actually done it- something Zayn was beginning to lose hope about- and he realises he needs to step up his own game further.

“You alright today, boss?” Zayn asks, crossing the room in slow but even steps. He swishes his hips a little, just enough to call attention to his slight waist, but the movement is wasted on Liam. He isn’t looking over at Zayn and seems to be mostly unaware of his surroundings.

Zayn sets the mug down on the desk, careful not to spill any cocoa, and crosses around to stand behind Liam’s chair. He sets his hands gently on Liam’s shoulders, fingers kneading at the muscles there gently until Liam sighs and tilts his head to give Zayn better access. He steps it up, then, with more pressure. “What’s up?” Zayn asks. “You newlyweds stay up too late last night?”

“Not, ah, not exactly,” Liam laughs.

“Oh?”

“Scott got a bit sick from the whole thing and kind of- puked all over me.” Liam says, a barely suppressed moan slipping from his lips when Zayn’s thumb hits a difficult knot.

“Oh, poor Scott,” Zayn says, letting his fingers inch forward and brush gentle strokes against Liam’s jawline. “I hope he’s alright.”

Liam doesn’t react right away to the touch and Zayn smirks to himself. He knows, now, that he’s going to be able to close this whole gig down today and he can almost taste his mum’s Sunday roasts. He trails a finger lightly down Liam’s throat and circles his Adam’s apple.

“I don’t think this is appropriate,” Liam says, his voice soft as he shifts forward and lets Zayn’s hands fall from his skin.

“Oh? C’mon, I’ve heard about your playboy ways,” Zayn teases. “You’re not putting that behind you already, are you?”

“Who’d you hear that from?” Liam asks, his shoulders straightening as he turns around to face Zayn.

Zayn shrugs, keeping his eyes locked on Liam’s gaze. “People talk.”

Liam’s expression is hard to read. “I’m not like that anymore.”

Zayn lifts his hands, palm forward in surrender. “Didn’t mean to overstep,” he says, apologizing sincerely and making to move away. He’ll have to try again another time. _Dammit_. He had the perfect opportunity to close the deal.

He closes his eyes before he takes his first step, his shit motel room flashing before his eyes. He _can’t_ go back to living there. The thought gives him the strength to turn around. “I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he says, his voice too loud in the small space.

Liam had started to turn towards his desk again but he stops and looks at Zayn with wide, worried eyes.

“I don’t care that you’re married. I saw you first.”

“Cal…”

Zayn dimly hears the distinct sound of Louis’ car pulling into the lot. Liam’s expression shows no sign of recognition, so Zayn grits his teeth and pushes forward, closing into Liam’s space. “I’ve wanted you since the day you interviewed me,” he says, lifting a hand and resting it against Liam’s cheek when the man makes no move to pull away. “You can consider this a wedding gift.”

Keeping his palm against the day-old scruff on Liam’s warm cheek, Zayn leans down as Liam closes his eyes in reflex. He feels the strain beginning in his neck just before their lips connect, humming in the back of his throat as he pushes the kiss deeper, faster and Liam hesitantly answers.

With his free hand, Zayn curls his fingers in Liam’s short curls, trying to anchor him into the kiss but Liam pulls back with a quick jerk, his hands coming up to gently push Zayn away as he stands and puts a bit of space between them.

“I know this is the worst timing,” Zayn starts quickly, casting another look up at Liam from under his curtain-thick eyelashes, today with a bit of help from _Maybelline_ , before he continues, “but I only come to work to be near you.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

 _Do I have to spell it out for you?_ “Don’t you find me attractive?”

Liam’s lips parts in surprise, eyebrows hidden under his swoop of fringe. “You’re- you know this, Cal, you’re attractive. That’s not a question. Everyone thinks so.”

Noting that Liam hasn’t let his hands drop, Zayn puts on a pout. “I don’t care what _everyone_ thinks.”

The words come out of his mouth in a purr. He presses closer again, his hips to Liam’s, and feels how Liam is half-chubbed through his trousers. The combination of Louis’ work last night- or lack thereof- and Zayn’s efforts today have Liam in a tailspin. Zayn knows from the months he’s been working with Liam that the man isn’t one to act on impulse alone, he thinks and overthinks most things before making decisions, but Zayn knows how to wrap people around his fingers. He just needs to find the right buttons to push with Liam.

“What do _you_ think?” Zayn asks, tilting his head up.

“I think you’re… very attractive,” Liam says.

Zayn lets his mouth open and eyes close as he waits for what he knows is going to happen next.

There’s a pause and then Zayn feels Liam’s posture relax with a defeated sigh. “But, I’m married.”

“I know,” Zayn says, eyes opening as he takes a step back. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should go.”

Once again, he turns to walk away. His head is down in the very picture of defeat. There’s no accepting defeat, because he’s stuck in this city until he gets Liam to do what he wants, and he needs to figure out a way to get him to do it.

Louis must have worked his best magic the night before, however, winding Liam higher and higher before leaving him high and dry, because Liam’s hand shoots out to grip Zayn’s arm and stop his retreat. Zayn stops stock still, turning when Liam tugs and letting Liam crowd him against the edge of the desk. The container of Bic pens and green pencil gets knocked over, the clattering against the wood desk loud in the otherwise quiet room, and Zayn almost doesn’t respond to the kiss right away.

God, but Liam can kiss.

There aren’t many times in Zayn’s life where he’s kissed someone that didn’t completely repulse him. Liam’s attractive and his mouth tastes like mint and he kisses like a man with seconds to live. Liam kisses like he’s desperate for it, like he’s regretting it even as it’s happening but has made a decision and is sticking with it. Zayn feels triumph rise in his chest. Liam’s hands slip down to circle Zayn’s waist and lift him to rest of the desk properly, the stack of papers shifting with their movements but thankfully not falling down. Who knows if the sound would spur Liam on or startle him back to awareness? Zayn blinks and relaxes in satisfaction, rolling his hips against Liam’s again and groaning as he makes to undo Liam’s belt and trousers as he speaks against Liam’s lips. “This is me, it’s on me. We don’t have to tell Scott.”

As if summoned on cue, there’s a faint knock on the door before the sound of it clicking open can be heard. Zayn knows what to listen for but Liam’s still unaware, large hands sliding down Zayn’s back to cup his arse as he presses his mouth to Zayn’s lips again.

“I can’t believe this.”

Zayn jerks back along the desk, finally knocking over the stack of papers as Liam nearly trips over his chair in his haste to step back and push himself against the window.

“Scott!” Liam says, eyes wide.

“I- _how_ is this happening?” Louis says, blue eyes already filling with tears.

Only years of experience and practice help Zayn contain his smirk. Louis is _good_.

“Scott, shit, don’t. It isn’t what it looks like,” Liam says in a rush, steadying himself and walking around his desk to approach Louis in the doorway.

Louis keeps flicking his gaze between Zayn and Liam, and he steps back quickly when Liam gets close enough to touch his hand. “Stay away from me.”

“Baby, this- I don’t know what happened.”

“Not even one _day_?” Louis asks, voice dropping low but Zayn’s heard him practice this speech too many times. He could recite it himself. “I didn’t give it to you last night so you got tired of waiting?”

“Baby, _no_ ,” Liam says, voice sounding genuinely concerned.

“ _Don’t touch me_ ,” Louis snaps when Liam makes to grab his hand again. “Don’t come _near_ me.”

Zayn’s left hand twitches a nanosecond before Louis lifts his. Louis makes sure Liam’s eyes are focused on the ring on his fourth finger, a truly stunning piece that was miles nicer than any ring Louis had been given before. With a quick, practiced motion, Louis lifts his right hand and slides the ring off his finger, chucking it at Liam’s chest.

“Don’t fucking follow me,” Louis says before turning and stomping out of the office, his footsteps loud against the stairs as he climbs down to the lobby.

Liam, for his part, is frozen in the same place Louis left him. His gaze remains fixed on the ring now on the floor. Zayn steps up to his side, his hand hovering over Liam’s arm before deciding that a touch might send him over the edge. “It’ll be okay,” Zayn says. “Scott will calm down.”

Liam doesn’t respond. The only sign that he’s even heard Zayn is a soft sigh he lets out before bending at the knee and picking up the ring. He stands again and turns away from Zayn, back towards his desk.

Zayn waits for a count of three before deciding his work here is done. “By the way: today’s my last day.” Liam finally reacts, looking over at him with disbelief on his face. “I won’t use you as a reference, don’t worry.”

 

 

 

One last week in his shit flat and he’s back at the bus stop, a duffel bag over his shoulder and as many layers of jumpers over his torso as he could fit. It’s somehow gotten colder than shit outside and Zayn isn’t built for this kind of winter. He’s ready to get out of the Midlands.

Two stops before his, the bus is crowded so he gives up a seat to an older man who steps up with a limp. Zayn keeps his bag by his feet, one arm over his head to steady himself on the ride.

The Wolverhampton train station is in its normal state of frenzy, and Zayn makes it to a seat with only a moment to spare. Twenty minutes later, he’s grabbing his bag and changing to the train for London. His train is packed but his seat is reserved so he settles into it and plugs in his phone charger. There’s a missed call from his mum and he pushes his hood over his head, puts the ear to his phone, and turns his back to the aisle.

He spends almost half of the ride on the phone with her, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb his neighbors. When they finally hang up with Zayn promising to come stay at home for a bit, he nods off easily for the rest of the ride.

It may qualify as a miracle but the Tube out of Euston is blessedly empty enough that he can perch on one of the priority seats, his duffle shoved in the nearest corner designated for airport luggage. It’s not quite the last train but it’s late enough and a Monday so he gets the luxury of being able to stretch out. He listens with one ear to the announcements at every station, ‘mind the gap’ stuck in his brain after two calls.

Fifteen minutes into the ride and someone settles down next to him, jostling his arm though there are still plenty of seats available.

“How’d we do?” Zayn asks, tilting his head against the glass and turning to look at Louis.

Because he never wears a coat or other sensible things in the cold, Louis’ face is pink, lips nearly blue, and there’s a heaviness in his expression even as he forces a smile. “Two hundred thousand quid.”

“Shit, Liam was worth that much?”

Louis shrugs, his smile fading. “We knew it was a lot, just didn’t have the numbers. Once we did, Niall crunched them perfectly for us and got half. Like usual.”

“Well, his commission is a pretty big motivator,” Zayn smiles, reaching a hand out to touch Louis’ arm. Louis shifts closer, head resting on Zayn’s shoulder.

“I’m exhausted.”

“Does that mean we can finally stop?” Zayn asks, slumping as well.

“No,” Louis says quickly.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“We’ve got to keep going while we can. One day my arse won’t look like this and it won’t happen for us anymore.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, used to this speech. “My cheekbones are always going to look like this, though.”

Louis shoves him with his shoulder and they sit in quiet for a few minutes together.

“I promised mum I’d come stay for a bit,” Zayn says absently.

“Yeah, I should go see mum and the girls, myself,” Louis agrees. “Two, then?”

“Years?” Zayn asks, pushing his luck.

“Months, you tit,” Louis says. “It’ll be two _weeks_ if you keep acting like this.”

Zayn sighs, looking out the window at the pitch black of the Underground. “Fine, but I pick the next place.”

Louis nods a bit and snuffles. Zayn realises he’s asleep. He still takes it as an agreement.

 

 

“You’re kidding.”

Zayn knew Louis would say that, so he came prepared.

“No, I’m not, and I even had Niall help me make a list of our possibilities.”

“Bully for your list but we’re not doing this in bloody _Mallorca_ ,” Louis hisses over the line.

Zayn pulls the phone away from his ear to look at it before bringing it back in. “Louis, listen to me.”

“No. Are you forgetting what I’ve told you? The richer people are, the more suspicious. They’re not going to let us get that close.”

“You’re not even going to give it a chance?”

“And blow our resources?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “We just got a hundred thousand off Liam. _Each_ ,” he stresses. He doesn’t miss how the mention of Liam’s name makes Louis go quiet on the line but he ignores it for now. “Even if you gave half of that to your mum and sisters, that plus our savings is far, far more than we’d need to even attempt it.”

“Zayn, this isn’t going to work out.”

“You said I get to pick the next job.”

Louis’ own eye roll can practically be heard through the connection. “You keep telling me that but I’m pretty sure I was asleep and, therefore, it doesn’t count.”

“Sure it does,” Zayn says easily. He relaxes in his chair, swinging a leg over the arm. “If you don’t come with me, I’ll just go by myself.”

Louis groans. “You’re stubborn enough that you would, I bet.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything for a long moment until he realises Louis is going to be purposefully and stubbornly quiet himself until Zayn breaks. “Just say you’re coming with me,” Zayn prompts.

“I’m coming with you. Under protest.”

“Protest noted and ignored. Book the tickets.”

“Why do I always have to book the tickets,” Louis grumbles though Zayn knows Louis would never leave it up to him. They work well together because, though they’re both mulish and hard-headed, they balance each other’s quirks. Where Zayn is introverted and quiet around new people, Louis is brash and outgoing. Where Louis is organised to a pain in the arse level of specificity, Zayn is way more flexible and ‘go with the flow’.

Neither of them could do the cons without the other.

“I’ll see you in two weeks,” Zayn says, blowing a kiss over the sound of Louis’ final attempts at a protest. He sets his phone on the table next to his armchair, tilting his head back and taking in a deep breath. His mum is making a big dinner for his birthday and the house has smelled like heaven for the past three days.

He hears someone clear their throat and he looks over to find his father stood in the doorframe, a carefully guarded expression on his face. “Can I talk to you, beta?” Yaser asks, his voice soft.

“Yeah, f’course Dad.”

Zayn makes to stand, offering Yaser his seat, but his father waves him back down and perches on the edge of Zayn’s bed.

“Everything okay, beta? Your mum and I have been…”

“Worried,” Zayn supplies when his dad trails off. Ever since he had come clean to his parents about what he and Louis actually started doing when they left uni, these conversations with them have become common. It’s worth the momentary discomfort, though, to avoid lying to his family about where he’s going and who he’s seeing. Or who he’s… not seeing. “There’s nothing to be worried about, baba. Louis and I, we’re good.”

“You’re being careful?”

“Of course.”

“Not just in general, beta. Are you being careful with your heart?”

Zayn smirks, tucking his hair behind one ear. “There’s no worry there, dad. Promise.”

 

 

 

Mallorca in winter is like Bradford in summer and Zayn is in his element. A dark pair of sunglasses shields his eyes from the passerby, his gaze darting quickly around the central reservation to pick out any of the possible candidates he and Niall listed off before the trip. He’s tracking one out of the corner of his eye, a man in his forties who is wandering slowly between flower merchants on the median, flirting easily with the vendors. His name is right in the front of Zayn’s mind, close enough to recall, when someone sits heavily in the seat next to him, jostling his shoulder and nearly spilling his drink.

“Could you not?” Zayn gripes.

“Are you a bloody tourist or are you a professional?” Louis bitches back, swiping imaginary lint off of his trousers and reclining against the back of the bench.

Zayn rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer, turning back to face the man he’d been watching but he’s nowhere in sight. “Way to lose the mark, arsehole.”

“We’ll find him again. Moreno, yeah?”

“Carter Moreno,” Zayn agrees with a nod of his head. “He’d be one of the better looking potentials.”

“Pick someone else, then.”

Zayn’s instantly on edge at the snap in Louis’ voice and he turns to check him over, make sure he’s alright. His expression is blank, a mirrored pair of aviators blocking his eyes, and he forces a smile when he sees Zayn’s concern.

“The more attractive they are, the more competition there is,” Louis says simply, his tone more relaxed. “Let’s go for the oldest, age spottiest one we can find.”

Zayn mimes vomiting in his mouth and Louis smiles, shoving at him and cackling. The tension in his shoulders is gone and Zayn feels strangely accomplished, pinching and poking at Louis as they leave their table and head out on foot to explore Palma in greater detail. “I think if we go up these steps here, we can get to Plaça Major,” Louis suggests.

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Zayn hesitates but, as in all areas of life, Louis gets his way and grabs Zayn’s arm, dragging him along. “This is just a store,” he laughs, the artificial cold of the air conditioning hitting him as they step through the automatic doors. “You wanna chat up a clerk? Financially ruin them in a divorce settlement?”

Louis ignores him, attention clearly captured as he pushes his glasses to the top of his head. Zayn follows his gaze, holding back a grimace as he sees the pensioner in the aisle before them. “Lawrence Brygg, nearly a billionaire, seventy three, known for his interest in men half his age,” Louis lists off like he’s being tested.

“You should hope it’s more like a quarter his age,” Zayn argues in a low tone, turning and fingering a box of paracetamol to look busy. “How many marriages?”

“Four- quickest was eight months. Stayed together a year before he was paid off in a divorce.”

“So it isn’t hard to get him in the marrying mind and he doesn’t seem tied to his money.” Zayn moves up the aisle, passing the Theraflu. Brygg is hacking into his fist, a smoker’s cough that inspires Zayn to quit again for real this time, and he uses the chance to duck around the corner before he can be seen. If they have any chance of pulling this con off, they’ll need to both enter his life at separate times and can’t run the risk of being seen together by him.

A small basket of soaps catches Zayn’s eye and he pulls out his wallet, double-checking that he has enough Euro to buy it. He’s off his game, usually much more aware of himself and his surroundings, and he blames it on the Spanish sunshine. He hasn’t seen skies this clear since their job in Praiano and they’d only ended up there by accident because Zayn had caught the eye of a businessman during a quick day trip in Naples.

So really, it’s only because of him that they get out of dreary England at all.

Decided on the soaps, he makes to put his wallet back in his trouser pocket when he realises he’s lost sight of Brygg. He peers through the holes in the metal shelves, trying to see him, when he catches sight of the man coming around the corner and into his aisle. Zayn turns on his heel quickly, heading to the front of the store, and knocks into the man standing near him. He almost upends the man’s entire basket and he drops what he had been holding, the soaps spilling out of their neat container and sliding under the shelving.

“Oh, shit, sorry! Discúlpame,” he says as quietly as he can without calling further attention to himself.

A low laugh answers his apology and Zayn turns his gaze to his victim. The first thing he notices is a cocky tilt to the corners of the man’s lips, his pink tongue licking out at the bottom lip quickly before Zayn shifts his eyes higher to meet the man’s own.

“Hi,” the stranger says, giving Zayn an obvious once-over. Zayn returns the favour, skipping past the man’s mouth this time. His hair’s in a mess of curls on his head, pulled back with a headscarf and greasy near the part. His shirt is torn- possibly unintentionally- and his jumper over it looks like something he pulled from his nan’s closet. Only his black skinnies- fit to his legs like they were tailor made- and his overpriced Gucci boots keep the man from looking completely homeless, and Zayn dismisses him in the second it takes him to meet his eye again.

“Didn’t mean to push you.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.”

Zayn tries to force a laugh but he gets distracted by the guy’s pink tongue swiping quickly at his top lip this time. There’s two seconds of _what taste would he find if he put his lips there, too_ before he realises what he’s doing.

“Now I’m _really_ not sure that was true.”

He’s English and that fact pulls Zayn’s attention back to the present. “Gotta go,” he says, slipping past the stranger and heading out of the store before he can ruin their entire job with another distracted moment.

 

 

Back in their posh hotel room- courtesy of a dramatic fit by Louis regarding a lost reservation and a photo-shopped confirmation email- Zayn slides his laptop over from the bedside table and brings up the info they have for Carter Moreno. Niall does his research thoroughly- there are old articles from a local paper about Moreno’s troop in the ASDE and select Facebook posts from two years before that Niall must have thought were important. Zayn scans the intel, his frown growing deeper as he marks all of the solid reasons Moreno would be the best con for them. Brygg is wealthy, that’s for sure, but his marriages before means he knows what to look for and knows who to avoid. As confident as Louis is, Zayn can’t help but worry that Brygg will be a crash and burn for them. Unless they have Moreno also on the line, they’ll be leaving Mallorca with nothing to show for their time.

Mind made up, he prints out the intel and circles the top three things that stick out to him with a thick red marker. He scribbles out _going out for more info, don’t try and stop me_ on a Post-It he smacks to the top of the papers. He doesn’t expect Louis back anytime soon, figures he’ll stay with Brygg as long as possible and then track him for the rest of the day like a hunter tracks its prey, so he heads for a shower first. The water pressure in the hotel is heaven and the heat helps relieve some of his anxiety.

The sun is low in the sky and there’s a nip in the air- not cold, not fully- so Zayn tugs a blue blazer over his nicest white shirt before he heads outside, his keycard tucked safely in his back pocket. His shoes are quiet on the marble floors of the hotel lobby, heels clicking all around him, and he passes through without drawing too much attention. The less the staff see him and Louis, the better.

He catches a bus to take him downtown, slipping into an open seat near a woman about his age. She’s holding a toddler in his lap and he pulls faces for the little girl to distract himself, laughing when the mother laughs at them both.

“She’s a little flirt,” the woman says, her accent noticeable only on the ‘E’ sound.

Zayn smiles to her. “Same.”

She rolls her eyes at him around another pretty laugh and her daughter sighs, unhappy with being ignored.

Zayn waves to them both before stepping off the bus, his foot landing on something uneven. He lurches to the side, a distinctive _click_ in his ankle loud enough he hears it in the middle of downtown Palma, before his other foot catches his weight.

Large hands curl around his sides and help steady him. The tattered t-shirt he sees out of the corner of his eyes gives the man away and he looks up to meet the green eyes of the stranger from the pharmacy.

“This is becoming a pattern.”

Zayn flushes, stepping back to get out of the man’s hold. He falters when he tries to put weight on his right foot but he waves away any further attempt to help. “Don’t you want to get on?” he says. “ _The bus_ ,” he clarifies when he hears the way the words sound.

“It’s already driving away.”

Zayn turns to look, watching for a helpless moment as it gets further away. “I… sorry,” he says, facing the man again.

“Harry,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Tom,” Zayn lies, forgetting his cover. Harry laughs, palm warm as he holds Zayn’s hand a second too long. “Funny name?” Zayn asks.

Harry lets him go at that, his hand disappearing behind his back before he produces a slim, black billfold.

A very _familiar_ , slim, black billfold.

“Didn’t realise I was bad enough to warrant a fake name,” Harry says, handing it over. “ _You_ smushed _my_ foot, after all.”

 _Zayn Javadd Malik_ , his license reads. How could he have been so stupid to not replace it yet? “You never know,” he makes the excuse, though his words sound weak. He repeats himself. “Sorry.”

Harry waves away the apology, smile still bright. “You can make it up to me with some coffee.”

Zayn smiles despite himself. “I don’t think so.”

“A bite to eat, perhaps?”

Zayn shakes his head. “I’ve just eaten,” he lies.

“Some dessert then?”

Zayn’s eyes flash, good mood gone. “No.”

Harry’s eyes widen and he takes a small step away, both palms coming up. “I meant… ice cream, some cake,” he says quickly, the words nearly illegible from the speed. “Actual dessert, I promise.”

“I’m fine,” Zayn says, still irritated. He turns on his good foot and walks away, trying his hardest to not walk with a visible limp until he’s around the corner and out of Harry’s sight. He stops quickly and catches his breath, having held it to keep from whimpering in pain. He bends at the waist and lifts his trouser leg. There’s a bit of redness and maybe a little swelling already but Zayn doesn’t think it’s more serious than a possible sprain so he covers his ankle, shakes off the pain- figuratively speaking- and sets off down the street.

Niall’s intel has given Zayn a few destinations Moreno frequents and he picks one at random.

Well… It’s not really random - it’s supposedly the best panadería in Mallorca and possibly in the entire Mediterranean and Zayn has very little self control when it comes to sweets.

He’s in luck, because the first person he sees when he enters the through the bakery’s front door is Carter Moreno where he’s sat at a table in the window alcove. There’s quite a few people inside and out so Zayn heads for the first available table he sees. It’s two chairs over from Moreno, which is approximately a mile closer to a mark than Zayn likes to sit, but it’s got enough of a view of the alley outside the door that he can pretend to people watch.

He thinks Moreno’s eyes are on him but it isn’t time to check yet. A server approaches and Zayn carefully keeps his head tilted forward as he looks up and sees…

“You.”

“Me,” Harry agrees, his smile far too wide.

“Are you _stalking me_?”

Harry laughs. “You walked into _my_ bakery.”

“You own this? It’s called ‘ _Mariola’s_ ’.”

“I named it after my first wife. It’s lasted longer than the marriage did.”

“Well, go away!”

“Are you going to order something?”

Zayn chances a glance to his left. Moreno is looking over at them with a curious glance and Zayn curses to himself. He’s a second away from blowing this chance.

“Bring me a muffin.”

“What kind? We have whole wheat carrot cake, zucchini-apple, chocolate spinach…”

“D’you have any normal ones?” Zayn hisses.

“I’ve got strawberry oatmeal.”

“I’ll take one.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Leave now please.”

Harry seems amused by the exchange and he tucks his pencil behind his ear and leaves with a flush in his cheeks. Zayn catches Moreno’s eye and tries his best ‘flirty but still needs to be won over’ look. It’s a specialty but it means nothing now, apparently, because Moreno turns away and doesn’t seem affected at all.

Frustrated, Zayn turns to look out the window. He sees Harry’s reflection as he approaches.

“One strawberry oatmeal muffin.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you want to have dinner?”

“In general? Yes.”

“With me.”

“Then, no.”

A smile full of white teeth shows in the mirrored image of Harry and Zayn rolls his eyes when he finally walks away. The guy’s charming but he’s truly making Zayn regret picking Mallorca. He picks at the muffin and pops a bite into his mouth, barely resisting a cliched moan when the strawberry flavour bursts on his tongue and makes his mouth water for more. _God_ , he didn’t prepare himself for how good that bite was going to be. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket while he thinks of what to do, distractedly tossing a few coins to the table when he has an idea.

The wave of inspiration is welcome and convinces him that he’s some kind of genius and he keeps himself from smiling as he pulls off a bit of the oatmeal crumble on top. He looks over to Moreno and meets his eye as he places the piece on his tongue. He’s pretty sure his acting is porn worthy but he closes his eyes and pretends to chew, silently reminding himself he doesn’t need to look like a cow breaking up it’s chow, blinking slowly and smiling when the mark is still watching.

“Hi,” he says, breaking Louis’ rule number five: don’t ever approach a mark first.

“Hello,” Moreno answers, his voice much higher than expected. Zayn breaks off a larger piece and repeats his actions for a moment before shoving the bite to the side and swallowing around nothing.

He puts it on his tongue, pretending to himself that it doesn’t taste like heaven, and meets Moreno’s eye once more. He mimics chewing in his most dignified way before he “swallows” and begins coughing. He’s never seen someone choke in real life so he tries his best to remember his first aid training in sixth form and every movie scene he’s seen with this scenario. Forcing his coughs quieter and holding his breath, he stumbles up from the table and takes a step towards Moreno.

Instead of, who knows, fucking _helping him_ or something, Moreno stands from his table with haste and takes two giant steps back from Zayn as if he’s got the bubonic plague and not a piece of muffin fake stuck in his throat.

Resigning himself to give up on the game and just let Louis play this one out, Zayn stops advancing and leans back towards his table. He makes to cough and ‘dislodge’ the piece but he inhales first, face on fire from how long he’d tried to hold his breath.

Oh _shit_.

Fake choking is fucking _stupid_ , Zayn thinks as he actively feels a stray chunk of oatmeal crumble fly down his windpipe and he’s suddenly choking for real.

Quickly, he gets his feet under him again and looks around, trying to find a chair high enough he can use it for a pseudo Heimlich. After he begins to panic but before his life begins flashing before his eyes, a pair of arms wraps around his middle and squeezes in two, three strong beats before Zayn is coughing up the muffin bite. He makes to catch it with his hand but he’s not coordinated enough to manage and the wet chunk flies between his lips and lands inches from Moreno’s thousand pound shiny leather shoes.

The look of revulsion on Moreno’s face registers with Zayn a second before he realises whose tattooed arms are around him and he would scream in frustration if he had enough lung capacity.

“Get off of me!” he says, his voice hoarse as he pushes at Harry’s arms. Harry lets him go easily, his hands held up either side of Zayn’s hips after Zayn stumbles on his bad ankle. “Stop touching me all the damn time!”

“To be fair-” Harry starts to say before Zayn cuts him off.

“Just leave me alone, yeah?” he says before he storms out of the panadería and back into the alley that leads him to his bus route.

 

 

He’s icing his ankle later and missing the rest of his strawberry muffin when Louis finally comes home. The intel on Moreno is shoved unceremoniously in Zayn’s drawer, the sticky note shredded. Moreno is an official bust.

“What’d you do to yourself?” Louis asks, plopping his full weight down on the mattress not far from Zayn’s sore ankle. “Do we get to sue?”

Zayn forces a laugh as he moves so he’s out of Louis’ range. “Nah, just stepped off the bus wrong.”

“What about the person who helped you?”

Cold panic washes through him as he meets Louis’ eyes. “What?” There’s no way Louis could have known he was following Moreno.

“You look the way you do and no one took the opportunity to feel you up while they ‘helped you’?” Louis asks, using air quotes before stealing the clicker from Zayn’s hip and turning the channels on the hotel’s television that takes up nearly the entire wall. He’s smiling and Zayn forces a laugh, his heartbeat slowing.

“A nice lady with a baby, actually. I almost smushed the poor thing.”

“Shame,” Louis says, eyes already heavy before he’s even found anything to watch.


	2. like a light bulb in a dark room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is long overdue! I would apologize but I think the third and final part will see a similar delay. I've been terribly busy lately and a little bit blocked but I will do my best to get this finished and delivered quickly. Thank you so much to everyone who's left comments or visited me on tumblr: you're all so amazing!
> 
> Note: Johannah Deakin's illness is briefly mentioned. I have no plans to show anything on screen or deal in any way with her passing. I still feel it should be mentioned just in case, though.

The door to the hotel suite has barely closed but Zayn is already flipping open his mobile and pulling up Niall’s contact info. He fiddles with the dial on the radio as he contemplates his next move. The volume is low but he catches a hint of Bobby Darin and he turns it up a bit while he takes the plunge and hits ‘call’. He keeps an eye on the door as he hums the chorus of ‘Dream Lover’.

“I need a favour,” Zayn says quietly into his mobile’s speaker when Niall picks up. “You can’t tell Lou, though.”

“It’s six o’clock, what kind of a favour?” Even over the line, Zayn can hear the tired trepidation in Niall’s voice and can picture clearly the way his brows are probably knitted together even as he hears the roll of Niall’s desk chair. The three of them have been a solid team for years now and Zayn’s never asked for Niall’s secrecy before. Not once. He knows he can trust him, though, if he can convince him it’s a necessary secret.

“Well, I went through our list of options again-”

“I thought Louis was working Brygg,” Niall interrupts, clearing his throat.

“Yeah, he is. This is for something… different.”

“Zayn, c’mon. You know what Louis says, no simultaneous cons. It’s too risky and we’ll get caught.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, getting mad. He’s sick of this con life more days than not lately anyway so walking away is hardly something he worries about. “This is for something different,” he repeats, his back teeth beginning to grind. “Can I ask it or would you rather I find this information out for myself?”

Niall laughs. “Then we’d really be caught. Alright, I won’t tell Louis, just… what do you need?”

“There’s a lad here that isn’t on the list but maybe should have been. He wears Gucci and YSL even though he looks homeless and he owns a panadería near the center of town. It’s quite popular. It’s called _Mariola’s_ , the lad’s name is Harry. I’m not sure if it’s short for something or not.”

“That’s a hell of a lot to go on,” Niall says sarcastically, though Zayn can already hear the sound of his keyboard clicking. He’s seen it enough times to know Niall’s hands are simply a blur right now and he’ll need to crack his knuckles before too long. “Harry Styles. Got an article here about the bakery’s opening. Brown curly hair?” Niall asks. “Could use a comb-through but he’s not bad looking.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Zayn lies, knowing Niall won’t call him out on it. “That’s him, though. What do you have?”

“Um, he’s twenty-nine years old and originally from Manchester. Married at twenty-seven to a woman from Mallorca. City records show his wife’s name is... Mariola. That makes sense, named the café after her. Um, they then divorced a year later. It was just finalized a few months ago.”

“Any details about her?” Zayn prompts.

“Yeah, course. Let’s see here… Mariola has a son from a previous relationship. Boy’s name is Bash Moreno. He looks about five, maybe six.”

“Previous relationship,” Zayn echoes, finally turning his back to the door. He walks out to the balcony through the bedroom door and lights a cigarette as he collapses on a lounge chair. They don’t mess with people with young children but Zayn figures a boy who _isn’t_ Harry’s son _won’t_ be an issue. “Wait, hold on. Did you say the boy’s last name is Moreno?”

“Erm, yes,” Niall says, keys clicking so quickly they sound more like rolling thunder. “Moreno is her maiden name. Mariola Moreno, and she comes from old money. Her father is Mateo Moreno, he owns half of the island’s real estate and plenty of land abroad. Space venturists, too. That name sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

“Carter Moreno is on the list. He was my choice.”

Niall hums. “Carter Moreno… yes, he’s the younger brother of Mateo. Makes him Harry’s uncle in-law. Is that even a thing?”

“I don’t think so, not if they’re divorced,” Zayn guesses. He thinks about it and remembers Carter in the café, remembers him jumping up and calling out Harry’s name. It hadn’t occurred to Zayn to think anything of it at the time, distracted when his faux choking had turned real. “Is Harry from money, then?”

“Maybe upper middle class,” Niall says. “He got a decent divorce settlement but his money is mainly in the bakery, I think. He owns it?”

“Yeah, it’s nice. Seems popular, too.”

“I can get the numbers this afternoon, if you’d like them.”

Zayn thinks about it as he finishes his cigarette and stubs it out on the metal arm of the lounge chair. He’s never gone behind Louis’ back like this. Sure, he’d started spending some of Liam’s money when he thought they were going to be stuck in Wolverhampton forever. He’s never attempted a second con, though. Something in his gut is telling him to look twice at Harry and he thinks Harry’s the right mark for them. If he can get to Harry before Louis gets to Brygg, he can force their hand.

There’s no harm in getting a little additional information, he reasons. “Yes, please,” he says finally. “Thank you Niall.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, mate.”

 _Me too_ , Zayn thinks as he lights another cigarette.

He ends the call with Niall and watches the view from where he’s sat, the residents of Palma already up and about. There’s plenty of church bells he can hear in the distance and he realises with mild surprise it’s Sunday and he hasn’t called home all week.

Queueing a third cigarette just in case, he dials his mum.

“Hi, sonshine,” Trisha answers. “How are you?”

“I’m good, mummy, how’re you?” Zayn asks. It’s insane but he can honestly feel the stress leaving his body as the familiar sounds of Sunday morning in the Malik House sneak down the line to where he’s a lifetime away. “Missed you the other day.”

“We’re fine, beta. Daddy and the little girls are out back, do you want me to get them?”

“Not yet, just talk to me. How’s breakfast coming?”

“I’ll pass you to Doni once I’ve started the eggs, yeah?”

“Sounds good.”

 

 

 

That night, Zayn’s curled on the sofa and flipping through a novel in Spanish while he half-listens to Louis ranting about Brygg’s smoking. “I swear to god, Zayn, it’s enough to make even me quit. I could get the same amount of nicotine from being near him as I can from me own cigarette.”

“Then pick a new mark. You’ve not gotten far with him yet.”

“I beg your pardon!”

Zayn smirks and glances up. “He said ‘hi’ to you as you passed in a museum and you coughed on the smell of the smoke. Not exactly the stuff whirlwind romances are made of.”

Louis scoffs. “I’m going to a party his son is hosting. There’s going to be an auction afterwards-”

“Naturally,” Zayn interrupts. “Who has an auction at a party? Rich people never cease to amaze me.”

“Any _way_ … I’ve got a plan.”

“Does it involve starting a bidding war with him?”

“...maybe…”

“You did that in Mostar with Admir,” Zayn reminds.

“Fine, whatever, I’ll do a repeat.”

“And in Hamburg with Dieter.”

“You’ll do it then,” Louis bitches, agitated.

“I did in Kiev. I don’t remember her name, though.”

Louis’ silent for a long moment. “I won’t go to the party, then.”

Back to his book and tracing the words he only vaguely knows, Zayn almost misses the buzz of his phone where it’s stashed in his trouser pocket. “I think you need to have a backup plan,” he points out as he flips open his phone and reads the text quickly.

_Previous settlement: 5m. Property value: 15m_

“This _is_ my backup plan!”

Zayn looks at him. “I mean a backup plan to hook him, not a backup guy. Though we should have one of those, too!” he calls out as Louis stomps out of the room. He’s glad for the privacy, as nosey is Louis’ middle name and he’d demand to know who Zayn was texting and what they were saying. As a professional liar, Zayn knows all the ways people hide things. He can name a dozen micro-movements someone would make when they’ve got a secret but he’s never been the best at controlling his own body language around his best friend.

A second text comes in.

_Could get you 7m easily, 10m at most_

Zayn types back _How much is LB?_

_30m without sweating_

Not close enough for Zayn to make the argument unless Louis takes much longer to get Brygg on their line. _Thanks, Ni._

_Want me to keep a file?_

_No thanks_

“I think you should apply for a household position,” Louis says when Zayn closes his phone. He barely holds back a startled inhale, as he hadn’t heard Louis come back into the room.

“That’s a bit cliché, don’t you think?”

Louis shrugs and starts pacing. After a few seconds, he says, “It’s the easiest way to keep him interested and keep you out of reach.” His voice is small and Zayn hears the hint of defeat. It makes him anxious at the same time it makes him want to coddle and reassure Louis.

Diplomatically, he says, “I’m not a very good cleaner.”

“With those cheekbones, you don’t have to be.”

Zayn laughs. “When do you think I should apply?”

“You’re not going to fight me?” Louis asks, pausing his pacing to raise a brow in Zayn’s direction.

“I’m not saying I’ll do it,” Zayn says lazily, scratching under his navel and standing from the sofa. “Just asking what your timeframe is? The man doesn’t even know yer name yet.”

“I’m working on that. And I don’t see the harm in you going for it now. You can start building up some trust maybe.”

Zayn shakes his head. “No way. I went in first with Liam and that took forever. You have to hook him before I’ll go in.”

As usual when Liam’s name is mentioned, Louis scowls and flicks his too-long fringe back from his face. “Never mind that, I think you should go soon. The butler hires out of the temp agency on Santa Creu. Across from the library.”

“There’s a _butler_?” Zayn snorts.

“You’re the one who picked Mallorca, everyone has a butler here.”

“I don’t… think that’s true.”

“Eh, probably not but I think it’s still a good idea to go now.”

“Are you sick of the sun, already?” Zayn teases.

And just like that, Louis’ bad mood is gone and he smiles. “I’m British, I can only take so much,” he jokingly agrees. He heads over to the kitchen area and opens the refrigerator, though Zayn knows they don’t have any food in. He doesn’t know why Louis had thought they would.

“I could pick us up a pad thai tonight,” Louis says. “I’m going for a walk anyway but I’ll be back for supper.”

“You goin’ Brygg watching?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, though it doesn’t sound confident and Zayn would bet Louis is lying. Since he’s hiding his own secret, anyway, he doesn’t push.

“Yeah, I’ll take something too. Surprise me,” is all he says and he watches Louis grab his room key and wallet before he heads out.

The mention of food reminds Zayn that he hasn’t properly eaten yet today and his stomach squeezes in hunger. Thinking he might head out for a bite to eat- doesn’t want to wait for Louis to return- he heads for the nightstand in his bedroom. His steps falter once he gets close enough to see only his black room card against the wood grain. That’s strange, that’s where he always puts his wallet.

He casts through his memory to find the last time he saw it. Ghost strawberry topping tickles his taste buds and he bites his lip against an irritated groan.

Of _course_.

 

 

His palms smack against the white painted wood of the door and it opens much easier than Zayn had originally expected. He nearly knocks a dent into the wall in his rush to get inside. Part of him wants to check for damage in the wall but he doesn’t have time for that. “You stole my wallet, asshole!”

Harry’s curls swing with the motion as he looks up from behind the counter. He’s wearing his default smirk and today’s headscarf is lavender, a soft point of colour grabbing the afternoon light coming in from the open door. “Will you take this to the back?” Harry asks the younger girl next to him, his smile shifting to reassure her when her wide eyes glance questioningly at Zayn. “It’s fine, go on.”

Zayn pushes his stinging palms to the cool of the stone countertop. “I need my wallet.”

“You could say ‘please’,” Harry says with the air of someone reminding a small child of their manners. It only serves to irritate Zayn further.

“You stole my wallet so I’d have to come back here and see your stupid face again. I should be calling the police!”

Harry rolls his eyes but he’s still smirking and his good mode hasn’t faded. “That’s a bit dramatic, considering _you_ left it behind. Again, I might add.”

“ _Or_ ,” Zayn stresses, “you’re just a filthy pickpocket.”

“I don’t need to steal your fifty euro and the photos of your family.”

“You went through my things?”

“I had to find out who it belonged to! I tried calling around for your hotel but _Zayn Malik_ hasn’t checked in anywhere so I kept it here for you when you realised what had happened.”

“I’m… checked in with a friend. My name isn’t on the room,” Zayn says through his teeth. One more slip up on his part and Louis and he are going to have to leave the island with nothing to show for their time and effort.

“By friend do you mean boyfriend?” Harry asks, putting his elbows down and leaning in a bit closer.

“Yes,” Zayn lies.

Harry doesn’t blink for the longest moment of Zayn’s life as he considers Zayn with his chin on his hands. “Nah, it’s not a boyfriend,” he finally decides.

“My wallet?” Zayn reminds, getting annoyed. He makes a living by reading people and doesn’t care much when someone turns their own skills on him. “Is there a nasty Lost and Found or something around here?”

“Do you always have to be so rude?” Harry asks, some of his cheery demeanor slipping as his words push against themselves in the rush to get out. He shoves back from the counter and reaches below. He pulls out Zayn’s wallet and tosses it over. Zayn catches it with one hand and slips it in his pocket before he can do something dumb and lose it again. Harry’s already turning away, stomping into the backroom and letting the yellow kitchen door swing violently on its hinges until it settles.

Feeling bad now that his anxiety is sated and he has possession of the most threatening thing to his con’s success, Zayn chews at his bottom lip. “Thank you!” he calls out after a short internal debate.

The young girl from before comes out, her brown eyes still just as wide. “He says that you’re welcome,” she says, her accent light as if she’s dealt with tourists her whole life.

Zayn grins. “Can you tell him something? That muffin the other day was really good. Almost worth dying for.”

Her thick brows knit together in confusion but she takes a step back and repeats the message, keeping one hand on the door to keep it open. “He says… there’s a fresh one in the case but it’s double the price what it cost last week.”

“I’ll take it,” Zayn says, giving her a generous tip when she bags it up for him with a smile. There’s still confusion etched across her entire face but she’s kind. “I’m not usually so rude. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

“Uncle Harry has been looking for you,” she says as she hands him a napkin. “Just so you know.”

Armed with that information and the best dinner he’s had in awhile, Zayn nods and leaves.

He walks slowly back to the hotel, his adrenaline settling after the fear of losing his identity cards _again_. He throws away the bag after he’s licked the last of the strawberry oatmeal topping from his fingers and he opens his wallet. Anything with his real name on it gets taken out immediately and tucked safely in his front pocket next to his phone. He’d grabbed his alias from the suite before he’d left and he tucks the cards into their proper places now.

‘Benjamin Gill’ his ID card reads and he rolls his eyes as he remembers telling Harry his name was Tom when he’d stepped off the bus- and onto Harry’s foot. He just can’t even believe the lack of coordination he’s had on this trip. He’s normally so put together, organized to the point where even Niall is impressed.

Though he’s half-tempted to toss his real IDs just so he doesn’t mess up again, Zayn resists the urge and continues his stroll. Having wandered half-aimlessly, he’s a bit surprised to find himself on Santa Creu with the library to his left and the temp agency Louis suggested to his right. He checks the sign on the door and decides to enter once he realises they’re open for almost another hour.

“Buenos días,” he says as he enters, the bell over the door chiming to announce his arrival.

“Would you prefer English?” the man asks behind the first desk. He’s handsome and in his mid-thirties most likely. He looks a bit tired but he smiles when Zayn nods. His Spanish accent is warm and his voice deep but something about him is unnerving as he motions for Zayn to have a seat. “My name is Ricky.”

“Ben Gill,” Zayn says, extending his hand.

“Are you looking for work?”

Zayn nods and hands over a forgery of a work permit. “I’ve recently relocated from the UK.”

“What kind of work are you looking for?”

Zayn smiles. “I’d like a home placement, if possible. Housecleaning.”

“ _You_ want to work in _housekeeping_?”

His smile turns smarmy and the unsettling vibe Ricky had been giving off has doubled in ick factor. “Cleaning is my strong suit.”

Ricky clearly doesn’t buy it. He gives Zayn a once-over from behind his desk. “Are you sure about that?”

Zayn nods.

“...Okay, yes. I need your photo identification and a copy of your birth certificate.”

Zayn’s not heard that request before. “I have my photo ID but I didn’t bring a copy of my birth certificate. I thought this permit would be enough- I had to show my birth certificate to even get this.”

“I will need all paperwork to finalise you in our system but I can get you started today and leave you with some recommendations. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” Zayn says.

“I could interest you in some customer service jobs?”

“I’d really prefer something in a home.”

“What about-”

“Sir, do you have any cleaning jobs or not?” Zayn asks, dropping the smile. “I just need a job and that’s what I’m good at.”

“You don’t have any papers, though.”

Zayn grinds his teeth and closes his eyes for a quick second to calm any threatening anxiety. “I have _some_ of my paperwork,” he corrects. “I just don’t have everything because I’ve never heard that request before.”

“Have you relocated often?”

The interest Ricky is showing in him is strange. “A couple of times,” Zayn says.

Ricky looks over his right shoulder once and then once again. “There’s something else you could do,” he says once he’s confident no one is listening to them. “If you’re interested.”

“What’s that?” Zayn asks. He _has_ to leave with a cleaning recommendation but he’s genuinely curious. Everything about Ricky is bothersome, the handsomeness Zayn had originally noticed having faded with his personality quirks. If he’s got some secret, borderline illegal placement coming out of here, though, Zayn is interested in knowing. It’s always good to have an eye on other cons in the area.

“With a face like yours,” the clerk continues, his eyes dropping to Zayn’s mouth. “You could make a lot of money being one of Vicente’s boys.” Just in case his meaning wasn’t clear enough, Zayn watches in almost rapt horror as Ricky slips his hand under the desk. Zayn knows immediately what he’s doing and he’s decided he’s had enough.

“Fuck you,” Zayn says, standing so quickly from his chair that it wobbles and nearly falls over. The thudding of the chair’s legs against the floor is loud but not quite as loud as Zayn’s words had been.

“It’s easy money and I have good number for you!” Ricky hastens to add, as if that would somehow make this better.

“I’m not a bloody prostitute,” Zayn shouts, his hand forming into a fist at his side practically of its own volition. “I demand to speak to your supervisor.”

Ricky’s face is pale as he nods and the whites around his eyes seem thick with how wide they are open in fear. A swollen lip and black eye or two would serve him well but Zayn keeps his hands down while the clerk jogs across the room and pulls an older man in a suit and tie aside. They have a short conversation in Spanish and they’re too far away for Zayn to hear anything.

He can’t imagine Ricky’s telling the truth though and part of him- the very small part that isn’t offended- admires the nerve of the guy.

“Can I help with something for you?” the supervisor asks as he approaches. He holds out his hand and Zayn takes it confidently. “Diego Cruz.”

“Ben Gill,” Zayn says, holding out his hand. “Ricky was unable to match me to a proper classification and mistook my request to work in a household as an interest in prostituting.”

Clearly not as skilled in English as his employee- but a dozen times more than Zayn would be if he attempted to fragment that sentence in Spanish- it takes Diego until nearly the last word to fully comprehend what Zayn is saying. His eyes go comically wide and his face reddens. “I am sorry, so sorry.”

Deciding to play it up, Zayn adds. “I need work, I have family depending on me. Can you help me or no?”

“Claro, yes, sí. What can I do, what can I do?” Diego grabs the Rolodex from Ricky’s desk and flips through it. “I have... a position here for office cleaning.”

“I would prefer residential.” Zayn meets Ricky’s eye across the room. The lack of outright fear- more a sense of apprehension Zayn can read over the distance- tells Zayn that Diego might not condone exactly what he’s doing but the Vicente that Ricky had mentioned is powerful enough that Diego isn’t going to reprimand him.

“Claro que sí, one moment please. Ah. I have a position as a _chofer_ , a driver?”

Zayn knows full well he can’t drive but Diego’s words spark some inspiration. He takes the card and studies it for a long moment before he hands it back and shakes his head. “No, thank you. I’m beginning to think this isn’t the right place for me. Have a good night.”

He shakes Diego’s offered hand before turning on his heel and stalking back out to the street.

The Spanish sun is low in the sky, the streets of Palma cast in its golden light, and Zayn finds himself retracing his steps from earlier. It isn’t long before he finds himself stood outside _Mariola’s_ for the second time that day, though the anger he’d felt earlier isn’t buoying him through the door this time.

He stands to the side of the doorway while a couple exits hand-in-hand and keeps standing there, wearing down a hole in his lip with his incisors, until the next person he sees is Harry coming up to flip the sign on the door so it reads _cerrado_. Instead of the smirk Zayn’s almost become accustomed to, Harry’s brow furrows and his bottom lip pouts out as he swings the door open with one arm.

“I don’t have any more of your muffins.”

 _His_ muffins. Zayn’s not had ownership of anything in ages, has never stuck in one place long enough to become a regular anywhere, and Harry is already assigning him cakes. Zayn is caught off guard enough to laugh and it comes out more of a wheeze and less of an amused sound but it makes the wrinkles in Harry’s forehead relax. “I have a favour to ask,” Zayn says, also for the second time that day.

“A favour the friend who’s not your boyfriend can’t help you with?”

Zayn shakes his head.

“Why me?”

“You’re literally the only other person on this island that I know.”

After a pause, Harry steps back inside and motions with a nod for Zayn to follow. Harry closes the door behind them and then does the lock, touching the edge of the closed sign with his fingers as if to reaffirm he set it to the right side. “I have to cleanup while you ask,” he says. “And you’re free to go, obviously. I just hate when people come in and guilt me into serving them past closing.”

Zayn snorts.

“I’m sorry. Do you think that’s horrible of me?” Harry pulls his bandana down to his neck before pushing his hair back with one hand and the bandana into place again with the other.

“No, I was never great at customer service jobs.”

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Harry guess with a little smile.

Out of context, it’s exactly the same thing Ricky had implied. The connotation behind it is completely different and Zayn shrugs and smiles back. “I guess so.” Zayn watches as Harry begins wiping down tables and he grabs an extra blue rag to help out. They’re quiet for a moment before Harry coughs and Zayn knows he needs to take this chance. “I need to learn how to drive,” he says quietly though he knows he’s loud enough to be heard.

“You don’t know already?” Harry asks. There’s no bite to his words as he moves on to the next table.

“Never had to learn, did I? There’s trains and busses back home so I would never have to buy a car or anything. My bike was good enough for after hours. Always meant to just never… did.”

“Why do you need to know now?”

Zayn sighs, wringing out the rag and wiping at a particularly stubborn spot with a little more elbow grease. “I need a job and the only one the temp agency offered me is a chauffeur. I didn’t want to chance losing out on it so I just said yes.”

“Wow, you’ve got guts.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? I’m asking you after yelling at you this morning. Proof enough.”

Harry laughs. “I guess, yeah. Pretty gutsy. You don’t even know if I’ve got a car, though.”

Zayn stops cleaning, his eyes growing wider as he looks over his shoulder. “Please tell me that you do,” he says. His words tilt up towards the end in what he hopes appears more as a question and less as the begging, desperate tone he hears in his own head.

Harry keeps a straight face and even eye contact for all of ten seconds before he smiles, his pretty white teeth all on display. Zayn can feel himself physically relax even as he puts a hand to his heart just as Harry confirms, “Yeah, I have a car.”

“That was terrible!”

Harry flips a chair with one arm and sets it upside-down on the table as he laughs. Zayn pretends he’s not staring at the press of Harry’s bicep against the thin cotton of his undershirt. “I can take the afternoon tomorrow to teach you, if you’d like.”

“Tomorrow’s perfect,” Zayn agrees quickly. “Yeah, yes. Tomorrow.”

“Meet me here around four o’clock?” Harry asks and Zayn nods. “Dress for a swim after.”

Still nodding, kind of shocked that his plan is working so well, it takes Zayn a minute for Harry’s words to catch up to him. “Wait… what?”

 

 

_Changed my mind. Send me anything you have on Styles. Thanks_

Zayn’s eyes are wet around the edges from exhaustion as he types out a message to Niall. He sends it without letting himself have time to feel any doubt and immediately deletes it from his phone in case Louis acts on any of his nosey impulses. He tosses his phone onto his nightstand and rolls over in bed. Too tired to truly function, he tugs hard at the duvet covers until it slips free from under his shoulder. He pulls them over his head and falls into a hard, solid sleep.

 

 

 

“Did you get the recommendation?”

Zayn groans.

“Bro, get up.”

Zayn shakes his head and grabs the covers near his ears a half-second before Louis tugs from the foot of the bed. He’s still half asleep and Louis is freakishly strong when he’s being a demon so he soon finds himself curling up with nothing to protect him from the cold morning air despite his efforts. “Damn it, Lou. Leave me alone.”

“I saw you near the temp agency,” Louis says and Zayn feels suddenly cold on the inside.

“Stalking me?” he asks, trying his best to keep his voice calm.

“Brygg’s boat is docked near Santa Creu. Saw you going in but didn’t stick around much longer.”

“The guy was kind of a jerk to me but they were near closing so I didn’t push,” he half-lies. He stretches against his sheets, kicking out his leg when he feels a calf cramp teasing the muscle. He notices Louis’ critical eyes on him and he rolls over and away. “Ugh, what?”

“Getting a little soft in the middle there, mate.”

“Fuck you!” Zayn laughs, using his foot to push at Louis’ own soft stomach. “Callin’ me fat?”

Louis giggles when Zayn’s toe hits a ticklish spot. Zayn’s phone buzzes across the nightstand and he pushes himself up into a sitting position though he doesn’t look over or reach for it just yet.

“Can I have the duvet back?”

“No,” Louis says though he tosses it over in a bundle. Zayn pulls it around his shoulders to try and rid the chill from his skin. “What do you have planned today?”

Zayn snorts. “Guess I’ve gotta work out a bit.”

Louis rolls his eyes.

“What’s up?”

“I think I’m going home for a couple of days.”

“Yeah?” Zayn asks as he arches a brow. Louis doesn’t take breaks the way Zayn usually does. He prefers to push through each con, beginning to end. Zayn often needs to escape halfway through. “Do you need me to keep an eye on Brygg?”

“Don’t let him marry someone else,” Louis tries to joke. Now that Zayn’s looking at him fully, he can see the exhaustion plain as day on Louis’ face in the heavy bags under his eyes and the sharp downturn at the corners of his lips. “I just need a reboot.”

“Of course, lad. Whatever you need.”

“I hate asking you to skip a trip home.”

“I don’t mind,” Zayn says. His words must have come out a little too quickly, based on the slight narrowing of Louis’ left eye. Zayn forces himself to remain casual. “Don’t give me that look,” he laughs. “You know mum will just ply me with food once I’m home and then I really _will_ be soft. And you always run the risk I won’t come back.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, quickly enough that his momentary suspicion has probably passed. “You _would_ abandon ship and leave me here to die. Okay, offer rescinded: you’re staying.”

Zayn stands from the bed and adjusts himself in his pants as he crosses over to the chest of drawers along the far wall. “I was thinking of going to the beach this morning. Do you want to come with me?” He pulls a pair of black trunks out from his clothes, trying to remember if these are the ones with the small hole in the bum or not. He runs his fingers along the mesh interior as he tries to feel for loose threads.

“Earth to Zayn!”

Zayn scowls and looks over. “What, man?”

“You zoned out, mate! Are you alright?”

“I haven’t had any coffee yet or anything, cut me some slack.” He says as he turns on his heel. He gives Louis a questioning look as he finally thumbs over the hole in the fabric. “What’d you say?”

“You’re acting so weird,” Louis says, though he doesn’t repeat himself. Zayn just laughs and turns away, pulling out a navy pair next and frowning when he realises _this_ is the pair he’d torn. Does that mean he has two ruined pairs of trunks? He doubts that he owns a third.

“I think I need to fall back from Brygg for a bit anyway. I’m pushing too many coincidental meetings too soon together and he’s bound to get tipped off. I should probably pack though.”

“When are you leaving?”

“I erm, booked a flight for this evening, actually.”

“Short notice,” Zayn says in a carefully controlled tone. Any other con, any other time, he would care more about Louis being so impulsive but Mallorca is shaping up to be different than any other job they’ve ever worked. Zayn doesn’t mind if Louis’ kept a secret; it’d be hypocritical of him to care.

It’s a surprise Louis’ neck doesn’t crack with how fast he turns to look at Zayn. “It’s fine,” he says curtly.

Sensing the tone, Zayn falls back even further than he felt he had been. Lou can be sensitive at times.

He tosses both of the trunks back into the drawer. “Do you want some help packing?” he offers, “I’m ace with folding everything so it fits in yer socks.”

Louis snorts. “All of my stuff is dirty, so I’m just going to toss it in, yeah?”

“Nice, mum-washed laundry. Wanna take some of mine?”

And the mood lightens once again and stays that way until Zayn walks out of the suite in pursuit of take away lunch for the two of them.

After he orders the chicken shawarma he and Louis had discovered their first night in Palma, he pulls out his phone and looks at his texts from Niall. By the third message, there’s definitely an arch to Zayn’s brow and a hint of red in his cheeks that his father’s heritage and the colour he’s gotten from the Spanish sun help hide.

Styles is going to be fun, he thinks to himself. His thumbs fly across the keys as he texts Niall in return.

_Find me somewhere I can get lacy things_

It only takes a moment for a reply. _Not in my job description_

_Normally I’d ask Lou. You know my phone can’t do it_

_I’m going to get you to use a smartphone one of these days_

Zayn snorts. He doubts it. He’d just drop the damn thing anyway and smash it into pieces.

 

 

Zayn walks Louis to the stop for the bus that will take him to the airport.

“Have a good flight,” he says into Louis’ shoulder when they grip each other in a tight hug. Louis’ suitcase is at their feet, bulging in the middle from the amount of dirty laundry he’d shoved in there. They both had had to sit on the thing to zip it closed and Zayn doubts Louis will be able to carry it onto the plane.

“Love you,” Louis says, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s hair. “Be good.”

“I will,” Zayn lies as they break apart. The bus pulls up just then, the brakes grinding terribly as it comes to a stop. “Be good,” Zayn parrots back to him, smiling when Louis flips him off and hoists his bag up and over his shoulder.

“How much trouble can I get into in dreary England?” he asks before taking the steps without waiting for an answer.

Zayn waits until the very second the bus turns the corner with Louis still in it before he turns on his heel and runs as quickly as he can to _Mariola’s_. He’s late and he knows it but Harry’s there when Zayn rushes into the store. He’s chatting with a customer when Zayn flies in but he looks up and smiles when he sees him.

“I thought you bailed on me.”

“No,” Zayn says, out of breath. Maybe he is a bit soft. “Just had to do something first. I’m ready whenever you are.”

 

 

“That wasn’t right, was it?” Zayn asks.

Harry laughs and is shaking his head when Zayn chances a look over. “You’re doing fine.”

“We jerked forward really terribly,” Zayn protests. His head hurts, a little.

“You didn’t stall,” Harry points out generously.

“I’m also barely moving.”

Harry laughs again, and Zayn will never admit it out loud but he’s actually helping to calm him. “Just be a little more purposeful with the clutch next time,” he advises. “You can come off it a bit at first but you have to be slow the last… half or so.”

Zayn nods. “Okay, I can try that.”

The parking lot they’re in is completely empty, the late afternoon sun painting the pavement in yellows and oranges. The majority of the island’s residents are on the water or wandering the downtown so they’re relatively alone twenty minutes from the closest beach. Zayn vetoed the first few suggestions Harry had made- too many poles or parked cars for his taste- and he’s thankful now when he feels the power of the engine in Harry’s car. He could hurt someone with this.

“I want to stop, I need a second.”

“Okay,” Harry says gently. “Clutch in and take your foot off the accelerator at the same time. I’ll shift for you and you can let the clutch out… now,” Harry says, doing something with his hand Zayn can’t even begin to think about as he tries to follow Harry’s instructions. He never again wants to feel the car shake like it had before. “Brake, slowly, and come to a stop.”

Zayn doesn’t breathe properly until he tugs up the parking brake and turns off the car. “I don’t think I’m getting this job,” he says, his brain working a hundred miles an hour to find a way out of this mess. He’s a liar for a living and he knows better than anyone that keeping as much truth in the lie as possible is the only way to get through without tripping.

“It’s been ten minutes.”

“How desperately do you want me out of your car right now before I totally break it?”

“Are you kidding? You’re great.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “I’m doing terribly.”

“Yeah, but you _look_ great.”

“You’re a charmer.”

Harry’s dimple is even more potent in the sun-soaked middle of nowhere they’re currently inhabiting. He’s someone Zayn already enjoys being around and he can’t say that for many people.

“Want to try again?” Harry asks after a moment, his eyes never leaving Zayn’s face. “I’ve got the time.”

Zayn takes a deep breath. “Yes, please.”

 

 

“Just to the left up here,” Harry says, holding out his hand and pointing to a turn off Zayn would have missed otherwise. He pulls onto a mock driveway, two dirt trails cutting through short grass, and follows it slowly until it widens out into what passes for a parking lot. “Up here,” Harry repeats, nodding to a spot.

Zayn pulls into it carefully, getting the car in park and taking out the key. “Where are we?” There’s a thick tree line around three quarters of the open space but Zayn can see the water through the spaces between the trunks.

“Swim time.” Harry bounces out of the car, slipping a bit on the dirt but getting his feet under him. He opens the boot and grabs out a bag. “Where’s your trunks?” he calls out.

“I thought you were kidding,” Zayn bluffs, sticking his head out the open window.

“Guess you’re going in your pants, then.”

Zayn inhales slowly and exhales even slower, repeating it again to gather his nerves.

Harry comes around to his side and opens the door. Zayn hadn’t been waiting but he steps out anyway, handing Harry the keys and watching him toss them haphazardly onto the driver seat. “Not like anyone’s gonna steal it,” Harry says. “This is private property.”

“You… own this?” Zayn asks, looking around with a new perspective. “Do you have a house here?”

“It’s family property, not mine. But I have free rein and no one else will bother us. Hurry up, get your kit off and get in the water. It’s fucking fantastic.”

Zayn watches Harry strip off his clothes, his pants barely staying up around his waist, and doesn’t even pretend he’s not eyeing the heavy weight of Harry’s prick against the thin cotton. Harry’s smirk grows, his dimple a mile deep when Zayn looks back up.

“See something you like?” He asks as he pulls on his trunks. And then he sticks out his tongue.

It’s _such_ a line and _so_ stupidly delivered that Zayn just laughs and shucks off his own joggers. He’s been acutely aware of the panties the entire time he was wearing them, the fit and material both madly different than he’s used to. The lacy edge of the cotton briefs brushes against his skin in the most infuriating way and the cut is foreign. He thinks the fabric is permanently wedged up his arse and the only two things keeping him from hating them:

1- there’s nothing overtly sexual about a bikini brief but he can’t help but feeling it anyway, and  
2- Harry’s eyes go comically wide and his cheeks get red so quickly he looks like he’s been struck down with a deadly illness in the past few seconds.

Zayn pretends to ignore him for now, toeing off his shoes and stepping out of his joggers. He crouches down to grab them, folding them over his arm as he finally looks up at Harry.

“What?” Zayn says, blinking quickly. The gravel-sand mixture of the parking lot is hot from the Spanish sun on the bottoms of Zayn’s feet and he shifts weight from one to the other as he pulls off his t-shirt before Harry can answer. He’d skipped the matching bralette and he wonders if he should have gone for it now, seeing how hot Harry’s gaze is just for the panties.

Reading Niall’s texts had been a trip. Zayn’s never had to accommodate any specific interests in his marks- Louis has worked the majority of their cons and had enjoyed exploring different kinks and preferences- but Zayn could get used to this. It’s helping him put on a new role, especially with Harry knowing and using his real name.

“What?” he repeats when Harry’s focus doesn’t shift. He’s used to people tracing out his tattoos whether or not there is any underlying interest in their gaze but this feels different. So different. He half-folds his clothes again before hanging them on the car door.

Deciding Harry can catch up on his own, Zayn jogs down the trail of trampled grass leading to the beach. The grass gives way to sand which gives way to the purest, clearest water Zayn’s ever seen in his life. He has to climb over a few oddly placed boulders before his feet hit water but it’s worth it for the relief his skin feels once he’s knee deep. He can see small fish swimming around, though they scurry away further and further with every step he takes until he’s alone in the water.

Alone, that is, until Harry Styles arrives with drama and flair as he runs into the water. It splashes around him in huge sprays until he’s deep enough to dive in and then Zayn watches with unbridled interest as he propels himself forward with mermaid rolls of his body. He’s practically an ocean away in no time.

“Come out here!” Harry calls, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Can’t swim!” Zayn calls back with a laugh. He lifts his hand push his hair back, the water holding it down for him. He sees Harry’s head fall back and then his body follows, splashing down hard against the ocean water. The salt in the air teases at Zayn’s lips and he resists the urge to lick at it, knowing what a bad decision that will be. He tucks his hair behind his ear as Harry swims back to him, his back beautifully tanned under the sun as he pierces through the water.

“You’re an amazing person,” is the first thing Harry says once he’s come up for air.

“Can’t swim, can’t drive, can’t make strawberry oatmeal muffins.”

“I can teach you _all_ of those things,” Harry says, inching closer.

Zayn’s skin is so warm from the sun already that he thinks he’d set Harry on fire if he so much as even touched him right now. “I think driving is good enough for now.”

“We could swim out and see if we can rope us a dolphin.”

Zayn snorts at the sheer image of it. “I think dolphins should be free.”

“I could…” Harry starts, his expression twisting as he tries to think.

“I think just treading water for a bit will be enough,” Zayn interrupts with a laugh.

“Do you always wear…?” Harry trails off.

“Sometimes. Is that… okay with you?” Zayn asks.

Harry nods, his hair wet enough the curls are mostly weighed down. “You look great.”

“Because of my pants?”

“All of you but that’s a nice plus.”

Zayn snorts and pushes away, the water comforting around him. He can’t swim much but he can do enough to not drown and he treads water like he’d said, eyes never leaving Harry’s face. “Maybe I’ll show you another pair one day. If you’re good.”

Harry groans but smiles before he falls back into the water again, causing a faux-wave that buoys Zayn as it passes.

 

 

Less stressed and armed with a bit of a feel for the car, Zayn drives it without incident back to the hotel. He pulls into a space and turns it off quickly, not willing to chance a mistake at the very end. When he turns to look at Harry, he’s taken aback by the size of his smile.

“That was good?” he asks. It had felt great and Harry had only helped once when Zayn shifted into the wrong gear for a second. Seeing the look on Harry’s face now makes Zayn feel that he did well for sure.

“Honestly great this time. Let’s get out, c’mon.” Zayn steps out of the car quickly, leaving the door open while Harry circles around to his side. “We can go practice again, if you’d like. I don’t know who you’ll be chauffeuring around but they might be able to spare you for a bit.”

Zayn tilts up his chin to meet Harry’s eye and the subtle movement changes everything in him- his breathing goes shallow, his heart quickens and his blinking slows. The sky is dark now, the sun fully buried in the Mediterranean, and the lights from the hotel are the only things illuminating their area.

Harry smells like Coppertone and salty sweat from where Zayn’s standing. They had swam well past the sun setting behind the cliffs and had air dried only long enough for them to walk back to the car. Harry’s hand had bumped Zayn’s every few steps, the hint of a touch pulled straight from every romance book and film ever made.

Zayn’s skin is still tingling.

Harry’s t-shirt collar is wet where his hair’s continued dripping against it and Zayn lifts his hand to straighten it out. He leaves his hand there for a moment, his palm resting gently against Harry’s sternum as his fingers tap out a beat. He knows Harry is about to kiss him, can read it in his eyes for a full second before it happens. Somehow, though, he’s still surprised.

Harry’s mouth is cold when their lips first touch and his hands are the same as he slips his fingers under the waist of Zayn’s trousers. Zayn’s mouth opens of its own will as Harry scrapes the edge of his nail along the edge of the lace of Zayn’s pants and he realises his eyes are closed. He pulls back and blinks them open, all of Louis’ lectures flashing through his mind about being alert and being impartial. Harry’s eyes are still closed, a frown showing in the tight furrow of his brow as much as in the pout of his lips and he follows Zayn blindly to bring their mouths together again.

Against every piece of advice Louis has ever given him, Zayn falls into the kiss. He clenches his hand into a fist, the soft fabric of Harry’s t-shirt still wet in his grasp, and he closes his eyes for the long, _long_ moment until their lips part again.

“Um,” he says before he blinks his eyes open again.

“Is that a good um or a bad um?” Harry asks.

Casting around in his head for the right answer, all Zayn can think of is, “isn’t that _Wizard of Oz_?”

“You’re thinking of when she asks Dorothy if she’s a good witch or a bad witch,” Harry answers right on cue. He never needs much explanation to follow Zayn’s thinking, Zayn’s noticed. He just _gets_ it, always. “Dorothy’s response is ‘I’m not a witch at all’ but I don’t think that applies here since you did say um.”

“Right.”

Harry is babbling and Zayn is speechless and the roles are so reversed from what they should be that Zayn doesn’t know what to do next. There’s no rule in the handbook for how to deal with this situation, besides not getting into it in the first place.

“So?” Harry asks, eyes dark from the shadows cast across his face.

“It was just kind of an ...‘um’ um.”

“And the kiss?”

Despite himself, Zayn grins. “The kiss was good.

“First class? All of the awards?”

Zayn nods.

“Awesome,” Harry says and Zayn slips away before the kiss can be repeated.

“Good night,” he says as he jogs inside, rushing to the lifts.

Only when the doors are closed behind him and the lift starts taking him to his floor does he press his fingers to the fullest part of his mouth as if Harry’s left their kiss on his lips in Braille for Zayn to find. Only a few floors later, he pushes the emergency stop button as his legs shake. He crouches down in a squat in the corner and takes a second to himself, trying to figure out why the hell his core feels like Jello when he’s kissed more people than he probably remembers.

 _Not like that though_ , his brain supplies unhelpfully.

It’s just that… Zayn’s been _kissed_ , okay? He’s been kissed _a lot_ and by people who really, really knew how. The kiss with Harry had been tame, barely anything, but it’s hit him like a lorry. He doesn’t know if this kiss is affecting him because of the scent of Harry’s cologne that had finally snuck out from the sunscreen and sweat or if it’s because of the thrill of having whipped Harry’s convertible around the island in third gear with laughter in his mouth and a ball of nerves wedged in his stomach. It doesn’t matter, he supposes, and he isn’t even sure that Third Gear High is even a thing. It might be sun poisoning. That’s it, must be, and Zayn doesn’t know how to process the fact that he’s been poisoned by the actual sun.

The ringing of the alarm in the lift sounds distant in the back of his mind. His skin feels warm like Harry’s touch had painted a rainbow of light across every place his fingers had been. Harry’s hand had anchored Zayn in place with a gentle weight against his side and he lifts his shirt, half-expecting there to be a bruise.

He catches his breath and fights down a hint of panic, standing slowly and lifting his hand. He’s shaking as he presses the emergency stop button again, bracing himself against the wall as it lurches into motion. He’s swooning and he’s relieved to remember that Louis’ gone as he lets himself into their suite and passes out almost before he’s fallen into his bed.

 

 

He wakes at two in the morning with a realisation that hits him right in the gut.

It was the _intimacy_.

The intimacy with which Harry kissed Zayn is something he’s never before experienced. Since Louis and Zayn had started their cons straight out of school, he’s never had a kiss that wasn’t for the job or wasn’t for the score. When Harry had kissed him, Zayn wasn’t thinking about Brygg or Louis or sending money home to his family. He had only been thinking about kissing Harry.

He’s so _fucked_ and he spends the rest of the night pretending he doesn’t already know this.

 

 

 

Like the idiot he is, Zayn doesn’t even manage to stay away from Harry for all of a day before he’s slipping into the panadería and approaching the counter with a small smile.

“Here for a lesson or a muffin?” Harry asks. His expression is relaxed but his eyes cut to Zayn’s hips far too often to be casual. Zayn preens under the attention.

“Both,” he answers with honesty. “I also kept thinking about you.”

Harry’s face lights up at the admission and Zayn tells himself he doesn’t feel even an ounce of guilt.

 

 

He comes back every day for the entire week that Louis is gone.

 

 

 

Zayn meets Louis at the aeroport. “How was your flight?” he asks in a soft tone, aware of the sleep still lingering around Louis’ eyes and the fact that he’s already yawned twice in less than a minute.

“I flew Ryanair,” Louis says.

“Enough said,” Zayn teases. He tugs Louis’ bag from his shoulder, frowning. “What happened to yer suitcase?”

Louis laughs and scratches under his own chin. “It, erm, busted a bit coming off the plane. Was a _mess_ everywhere, to be honest.” Zayn giggles and follows Louis closely as they head to the bus stop. “Missed you,” Louis says.

Zayn kisses his cheek and wraps his free arm around Louis’ waist. “You’ve no idea, mate. You got to be with yer family at least. I’ve been bouncing around the hotel room, going mad.”

Louis sighs and sags against Zayn, making him take some of his weight. There’s a small crowd around them, all waiting for shuttles to pick them up from the airport, and Zayn stays close to Louis’ side.

“Mum’s sick,” Louis says, so quietly Zayn almost thinks he’s misheard.

“You’re kidding.”

Louis shakes his head.

“How bad is it?”

“I’ll be going back home more often until this is done.”

“Bro, just go home now. We don’t need this.”

“I do,” Louis argues. “I need the distraction, the challenge. Can we keep going?”

Zayn kisses his cheek again and pulls him into a tighter hug, Louis’ bag slipping down to the ground by their feet unnoticed. “Of course we can,” he promises. “Anything you need.”

“You can tell your mum. She’ll want to know.”

Zayn doesn’t let go for a long, long moment until he hears the bus pull up. The crowd around them is giving them a few curious looks but there’s no heat as far as Zayn can see. He leads Louis onto the bus and pushes him into a seat, crawling on his lap and giving him the best cuddles he can manage on a packed airport shuttle.

“Thanks, mate,” Louis says once they get close to their hotel stop. “For everything.”

“Always,” Zayn promises. “Let’s double down on Brygg tomorrow, yeah? I’ll go back to that temp agency and get whatever recommendation I need.”

 

 

 

Zayn avoids Harry after that. He’s so busy with infiltrating the Brygg household- having received a recommendation for a cleaning position after all- and keeping Louis’ spirits up that he honestly doesn’t have time for anything else.

Brygg is probably the grossest mark they’ve ever attempted. Hands down. The smell of smoke is so thick throughout the entire house- even in the servants quarters where Brygg has never once been- that Zayn chucks his pack in the bin the moment he’s home from his first shift.

Louis finally manages an actual meeting, forcing an accident between his rented Acura and Brygg’s chauffeured Rolls Royce. Louis starts coming around the mansion more and more, lounging around in tiny shorts and swimming in Brygg’s deep indoor swimming pool while Brygg sits on the side and leers at Louis. It’s so profoundly disgusting that Zayn wants to call the whole thing off every time he sees it.

The only thing keeping him going, bringing him to work every day and urging him to flirt with Brygg with soft glances as he serves him his coffee, is the permanent exhaustion and worry that’s been tattooed around Louis’ eyes since he came back to Palma a month ago. Zayn wants to finish this job quickly, thinks that Louis will go home and stay home with his mum and sisters once and for all if he just gets through this con.

Louis’ gone home for a visit and Zayn takes him to the bus stop same as he had before. He calls up Niall once the bus takes Louis away. He’s wandering Palma without paying attention to where he’s going, his phone pressed to his ear as he and Niall trade information as they try to catch the other up on everything that’s happening around them.

“I don’t know if staying is a good idea for Louis,” Zayn confides, stopping outside of a flower stand. He smiles at the stand’s owner as his attention is captured by some beautiful blooms.

“I know it isn’t,” Niall replies. Zayn can hear the sound of the footie game in the background and he fingers gently at the flower’s petals. They’re a gorgeous pinky-peach trimmed in white and they smell like Heaven when he leans in. “I gotta go, Zed. I’ll call later, yeah?”

“Bye,” Zayn says before flipping closed his phone and pocketing it. “Estas flores son… beautiful,” Zayn says to the owner, smiling to make up for missing the word.

The stand owner smiles back, his grin wide and natural. “You’re okay,” he says. “You like some?”

Feeling in his pocket for change, Zayn nods. “What are these?”

“Those are pomegranate flowers,” an all-too familiar voice says from behind Zayn.

His blood runs cold in his chest and his hand immediately starts shaking as he turns on his heel and comes face-to-face with Harry. His hair’s shorter, barely brushing his shoulders now, and the brown locks look healthy where they curl back from his face.

“Hi,” Zayn says, before sucking in his breath and holding it in an effort to calm his nerves.

“Haven’t seen you around in a bit,” Harry says. The words are an accusation but his tone is kind and Zayn nods as he exhales. “Wondered where you went.”

“My friend needed me. I… didn’t know it would go this long.”

Harry nods. Getting inspired, Zayn turns back to the stand. “Dos, por favor,” he says, pulling out a small bill. “Muchas gracias,” he takes the two flowers by their stems and turns back around. “For you,” he says, extending them to Harry.

Predictably, Harry grins hard enough to dimple and he takes them carefully. “Why two?” he asks.

Zayn shrugs. “One for an ‘I’m sorry’ and the other for ‘I like you’.”

“You like me?”

Zayn rolls his eyes and nods. “God knows why.”

Harry steps forward and hooks a finger in Zayn’s belt loop. He tugs him closer and steals a kiss before Zayn can come to his senses and pull away. He doesn’t care, though, and he circles his arms around Harry’s neck and lets the kiss linger a second longer than is truly appropriate for a public display.

Harry breaks one of the stems in half once they pull away and tucks the flower behind Zayn’s ear. “You’re beautiful,” he says. “And you keep me on my toes, that’s for sure. I want to know everything about you.”

Zayn flushes and breaks eye contact, looking down at his feet. Harry knuckles underneath Zayn’s chin and coaxes him to look up again.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks.

“Working.”

“Can you call off?”

Zayn bites his lip. He shouldn’t, he knows, but he can’t think of why with Harry close enough Zayn can smell his cologne above even the fragrant flower behind his ear. He nods. “Yeah, I… yeah, I can.”

“I’ll pick you up at five.”

“In the morning?” Zayn asks, his smile quickly fading.

 

 

 

When Louis calls to confirm he’s landed fine, Zayn doesn’t tell Louis he’s skiving off the next day. Usually he can feign sickness or explain that he just needs a minute and Louis doesn’t push him. Zayn knows he’ll have to answer for the omission later if Louis ever finds out but he just doesn’t care, he realises. Something about Harry makes Zayn feel reckless and he doesn’t waste time trying to analyze it. It’s also possible he’s just too tired to do any analytical thinking as he trudges out of the hotel suite and down to the lobby at five after five in the morning.

“I would like to register my very adamant complaints against the time,” he says as he slides into the passenger seat. Harry grins and hands him a bag with the top rolled down and a huge travel mug of coffee. “Five o’clock should only happen once and I should have a cocktail in my hand.”

“I could spike it, if you’d like.”

Zayn sticks out his tongue as Harry shifts into gear and pulls out of the parking lot. Zayn opens his treat bag. “This isn’t my muffin,” he protests. He wipes at his eyes and muffles a yawn. The past thirty days have been the hardest he’s ever had with Louis and he can’t pretend he’s not tired. “This _is_ my coffee, though.” The white chocolate melted in the drink soaks into his tongue and warms him throughout and he contemplates skipping the muffin entirely.

“It’s a new recipe, just try it,” Harry sighs. Zayn knows he’s smiling before he’s even looked over and he takes another long sip of his coffee in protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” Harry says fondly.

“It’s not the one I like. It’s not _mine_.”

“You might like this one, too.”

Zayn scoffs. He waits until Harry’s pulled onto a country road to fold his legs under his bum in the seat. Before Harry can yell at him to sit proper, he grabs the _Mariola_ bag and opens it again. The scent of cinnamon hits his nose and teases at his taste buds already even as Zayn pinches off a piece. He sets it against his tongue and lets it melt down.

“Good, isn’t it?”

Zayn doesn’t answer but takes a second bite. “Where are we going?”

“I knew it.”

Zayn hums and pinches off a little more. “You want?” he asks, holding it out for Harry to take off of his fingers. Harry nips at Zayn’s skin- of course- and smirks even though his eyes never leave the road and Zayn’s just proud of the fact he didn’t let any crumbs fall. “Where are we going?” he repeats.

“Technically, nowhere.”

“Is this where you tell me you’re a serial killer.”

Harry laughs. “We’re still a couple weeks out from that.”

“So…?”

“We’re going for a drive. Is that alright? We’ll put the top down once the sun comes up a bit more.”

“Or at all,” Zayn retorts. There’s a hint of blue on the horizon line but the sun is still very much under the surface of the water right now. He continues picking at the treat in the bag, offering bites to Harry occasionally as they drive in comfortable silence with no other sound outside of the engine and Dean Martin playing softly on the radio.

 _“Won't you please hurry home to my heart_ ,” Harry sings softly. Zayn turns and looks at him with a smile, watching him as he finishes the song and feeling a bit like a voyeur just as the song changes to Caterina Valente crooning ‘Malagueña’ sweetly in Spanish.

“I come up here every so often to turn off my thoughts,” Harry says.

They’ve been driving about an hour, hour and a half, and the sun is finally peeking out. The sky is changing colours with every turn they make. Zayn’s hair is in a bit of a mess on his head from when they’d taken the top down but he doesn’t mind. Harry had tried to cheat the system by piling his hair on the top of his head in a bun but Zayn had tugged it out quickly and is currently twisting small strands of his curls around his pointer finger.

“I know why I can’t think while I drive,” Zayn muses out loud. “I’m too busy trying to remember what to do next. But you do it so easily.”

Harry glances over. “The road we’re about to get on doesn’t leave a lot of room for idle thoughts.”

Zayn catalogues the smile Harry’s trying to hide. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll see,” Harry promises and something like a thrill goes through Zayn.

 

 

Ten minutes later and the thrill has repeated itself so often that Zayn finds himself breathless from laughing and with a sore hand from gripping the door handle so tightly it’s practically formed to his palm. They’re on the twistiest, turniest road Zayn’s ever seen, the area deserted in the early morning hour and Harry’s concentration expertly maneuvering each bend as if he’s done this all his life. Zayn can’t look at him for too long, his eyes always darting forward to look ahead after a few seconds.

“You’re crazy!” Zayn shouts at a particularly sharp turn.

“Are you ready?” Harry calls back.

“For what?”

“The Necktie!”

“The what?”

Harry whoops as the curve he’s talking about comes into view. The road suddenly disappears as it turns to the right and curves under… itself? “No way, no way!” Zayn says though he sits up straighter.

Though the ride has been wild, Harry really isn’t going very fast. It’s just the nature of it that makes everything feel so extreme and he slows down even further to take the 360 degree turn before he straightens out and speeds up just long enough to take the next curve blind.

Harry whips around it, his own laughter loud over the wind and Zayn gasps as they’re met with an oncoming lorrie barreling down the road.

“Oh shit,” Harry says, skidding and shifting as he pulls to the side of the road and comes to a hard stop. Zayn’s free hand catches on the dashboard to brace himself as he lurches with the sudden stop and finally settles in his seat. The lorrie passes them with just enough room to make it and Harry turns to Zayn almost before it’s even passed.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, panting as he shifts, turns the car off and grabs for Zayn’s arm.

“I’m fine,” Zayn assures him, his wrist tingling in Harry’s hold. “I’m fine.”

“I’ve never seen something that big trying to take this road,” Harry explains. “I never would have risked it…”

Zayn sighs and unbuckles from his seat, leaning closer and pulling Harry into a kiss to quiet him. “I’m fine,” he repeats for the third time. “I promise.”

Harry licks into Zayn’s mouth, one of his hands coming up to run through Zayn’s windblown hair and that’s all the invitation Zayn needs to scramble over the gear shift. In a move that’s obviously well practiced, Harry finally pushes the seat back further and manhandles Zayn so he’s straddling him in the tight seat. His knees are pressing uncomfortably into the outsides of Harry’s hips and he groans as he settles further in Harry’s lap. He can feel the press of Harry’s cock, hard against his thigh.

“Driving fast turns you on?” Zayn asks.

Harry grunts and pushes his hips higher. “You’re one to talk.”

“I could have died a thousand times just now. I’m allowed to make a bad decision or two.”

Harry laughs. “A thousand times is quite the exaggeration.” He lets Zayn kiss him a moment longer but he doesn’t push back and Zayn finally drags his lips away. “We’re almost to the beach,” Harry says.

His eyes are dark and his interest is obvious, so Zayn doesn’t take offense to the snub. “Take us there, then,” Zayn says as he awkwardly shifts and falls back into his seat

Harry pauses to catch his breath before he gets the car moving again. Zayn notices that Harry’s moving at half the speed he was before but it’s still exciting to take each hairpin turn and he keeps a hand on Harry’s arm the entire time it takes them to hit the beach proper.

“That was exhilarating,” Zayn says. “I feel fucking alive.”

Harry laughs and undoes his belt before reaching behind Zayn’s seat and pulling out a…

“Are we having a picnic?”

“Grab the blankets from the boot, please,” Harry says as answer. Zayn hops from the car, his entire body thrumming, and he does as asked.

There’s a few people on the sand already, the early morning air a bit cool for swimming but perfect for greeting the day. Zayn’s brow furrows when Harry waves to a couple but keeps walking down to the surf. Their shoes are held loosely in Zayn’s hands but he still hadn’t expected to get wet already. They go no further than ankle deep, Harry leading the way around a few boulders and washed-ashore rock pieces.

The adrenaline is fading a bit when Harry finally turns and leads them to a spot. It’s not quite a cave, more a dent in the mountain side, and Zayn spreads out their blankets when Harry nods. There’s a certain restless energy filling the void the adrenaline’s left and Zayn checks their area. The beach is barely visible from their spot and he can’t see any people so he lets Harry tidy the blanket and open the basket before he lunges.

Harry grunts when Zayn jumps him and Zayn laughs, wrapping an arm around Harry’s neck as Harry grabs just under his thighs. Zayn pulls off Harry’s t-shirt, tugging a bit when he realises it’s pinched at Harry’s sides by Zayn’s thighs.

“I wanna taste you,” Zayn says, tapping at Harry’s lips with his free hand when Harry goes to kiss him. “I’ve already tasted _those_ ,” Zayn says with a smile though he ducks down for a quick kiss.

Harry sighs and loosens his grip, letting Zayn’s feet hit the ground slowly. “Baby…” he warns as Zayn lets a hand trace out the shape of his cock through his trousers.

“You don’t mind the people at the beach, do you?” Zayn teases, knowing full well Niall’s already sent him everything on Harry’s very long-reaching past with exhibitionism. He tugs his t-shirt over his head. “You can be quiet so we don’t get caught, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, face already red. He turns his face towards Zayn’s again, capturing his mouth in a kiss that nearly distracts Zayn from his current mission. He tugs down the zip of Harry’s trousers, flicking the button out of its hole expertly and pulling them down just enough to expose the black cotton of his pants. “Zayn,” Harry says, his hands gripping tightly to the cut of Zayn’s hips.

“What do you want, babe?” Zayn asks against Harry’s mouth. “Want me to taste you, yeah?”

“Please,” Harry asks, his hands moving higher and his hold getting tighter like he’s trying to stop  himself from pushing Zayn to his knees. Zayn does it for him, tearing his mouth away and not faking an ounce of his reluctance. Harry’s mouth is a fucking _masterpiece_ and Zayn misses it already but his knees hit the blanket-covered ground and he shifts his focus.

Without pomp or ceremony, he tugs at Harry’s trousers until they’re pooling around his ankles and Zayn can feel out the shape of Harry’s cock through his pants. He pulls them down quickly and licks his lips. “S’like a prize,” he can’t help but tease, looking up and meeting Harry’s eye.

“Prezzie for you,” Harry returns. Zayn’s clearly not doing his job correctly if he’s still coherent. He seconds his own thought when Harry curls his fist around his cock and starts stroking himself.

“Hands off, it’s mine.” Zayn pulls at Harry’s wrist, watching his fingers straighten with hardly any further prompting and replacing Harry’s fist with his own for all of a single tug before he’s following his stroke with his mouth.

Harry’s surprisingly quiet. Zayn can’t hear much over the sound of the water next to them, close enough a high tide would possibly reach their blanket, but he looks up as much as he can and watches the way Harry’s puffy pink lips open around silent gasps. He’s building up a slow sweat. Zayn can see the shine on Harry’s chin and the dip of his sternum, and he sucks lazily as he lifts a hand and runs the edge of his fingernail around the bonus nipples either side of Harry’s moth tattoo.

The hint of it- possibly painful, but Zayn would have to pull off and ask to find out for sure- earns the first audible groan from Harry and Zayn watches it fall from his lips as if in slow motion. He’s a little surprised at the quickness of it when Harry’s expression turns pinched and his eyes squeeze shut and Zayn pulls back enough to tongue at the exposed head. He coaxes Harry through his release, rubbing his fingers along the cut of Harry’s abs as he swallows and pulls out every drop.

Zayn wipes at the corners of his mouth as he finally backs away and lands on his bottom. He watches as Harry takes a few tries to do up his trousers again. Zayn’s throat is a little sore- nothing that won’t fade throughout the day- and it hurts when he laughs as Harry tackles him until he’s lying flat.

“Your turn to be quiet,” Harry says with a smile, his hand clumsily feeling out Zayn’s erection through his clothes. Zayn laughs and twists his hands through Harry’s hair, tugging him gently away and laughing harder when Harry pouts and fights him.

“I want your first real chance at me to be in a bed _alone_ ,” Zayn says against Harry’s mouth when Harry finally stops fighting him and crawls up Zayn’s body for a kiss. “I can wait.”

“We can go now,” Harry offers with a grin he lets Zayn see for only a brief second before he’s leaning back in. “Could take you home.”

“I’ve never been to your place yet,” Zayn says around a sigh. He’s bare-chested and the morning chill from the water is making his arms break out in gooseflesh. Having Harry pressing against him, his body warm and still a bit sweaty around his lips and collarbones, is like sinking into a perfect bubble bath. “Maybe later,” he says.

Harry nuzzles into Zayn’s neck and presses kisses along his shoulder. He’s slowly coming down from his high and Zayn wraps his arms around Harry’s back, touching the individual bumps of his spine and marveling at the strength in his shoulders as he rolls off to the side. One of Zayn’s arms is pinned under Harry but he doesn’t mind, just shifts a bit to carve out a trench in the sand under the blanket.

“You falling asleep on me?” he teases.

“It’s so early,” Harry says, in a perfect imitation of Zayn when he’d picked him up earlier.

“Go to sleep, babe,” Zayn says, turning on his side and pressing a kiss to Harry’s brow. “We’ll have our picnic when you wake up.”

“No, missed you for a month. Don’t want to miss you again.”

“I’m sorry, babe.”

“Tell me you won’t leave.”

“You’ve got me all day,” Zayn promises. “Go to sleep.”

“Just for a second,” Harry lies as his eyes close and his lashes flutter as he fights off the pull.

Harry doesn’t win and he’s snoring softly with every inhale within a minute or two. Zayn uses his free hand to push Harry’s curls back and behind his ear. He lets his finger trace the lines of Harry’s face, around the jut of his chin and up to his brow. He’s the best looking man Zayn thinks he’s ever seen and he can’t believe he ever thought he could dismiss Harry in the drugstore that first day.

“I think I could fall in love with you,” Zayn admits in a low voice after he’s sure Harry’s too far under to hear him.

 

 

The next morning finds Zayn in a prime seat at _Mariola’s_ , wearing a white jumper he’d nicked from Harry’s wardrobe and a pair of black trousers he’s pretty sure had previously belonged to the panadería’s namesake. The jumper is rolled at the sleeves and a brace is on Zayn’s wrist.

It’s the last thing that holds Harry’s attention the most. They’d both woken from their nap on the beach, Harry tucked up against Zayn’s chest with his cold nose brushing Zayn’s stenum, and Zayn’s wrist had been twice its usual size from jamming it during the sudden stop on the road before. Harry had been aghast, holding it delicately with his giant paws and pressing his lips to it as if Zayn was a toddler and the only thing that could fix a booboo was a magical kiss.

It had helped, Zayn isn’t going to lie.

What had helped more, though, was the brace Harry had bought for Zayn and the gentle way he’d slid it into place.

Though Zayn insists it doesn’t hurt and promises Harry he isn’t upset, he’s also not a complete martyr. He doesn’t turn away any of the strawberry oatmeal muffin tops- _‘it’s the best part!’_ \- Harry and his niece have been sliding over to Zayn at regular intervals. He also definitely, _definitely_ , doesn’t tell Harry no when he pulls Zayn into the little office to the side of the kitchen.

They emerge half an hour later with smug grins and a small, dark lovebite sucked right at the edge of Zayn’s neckline so the jumper covers it about half of the time.

“I had to move, though I could get used to being waited on like this,” Zayn teases towards the end of the day when the lunch rush has died down but before the early supper diners come along. He had thought the stool was about to meld directly to his bum so he’s up on his feet now, helping to clear tables.

“I would do this for you any day,” Harry says, disgustingly sincere as always. He stands in front of Zayn and reaches out his hands to hold each of Zayn’s in one of his own. He presses their palms together and interlocks their fingers.

With a grin, Zayn swings his arms a bit, pretending like he’s going to pull his hands away but Harry follows his motions and keeps them linked. It’s domestic and probably a bit too sappy for a public place but Zayn doesn’t really care. He tugs Harry closer so they’re stood pressing chest-to-chest. “When can we go back to yours?”

“I have something to tell you, actually,” Harry says. He’s smiling and he seems relaxed so Zayn fights the wave of anxiety that immediately threatens to overwhelm him at Harry’s words. He’s mostly curious.

“What is it?” Zayn asks.

“I’ve wanted to tell you before but just… well, you were gone for a bit and I was nervous. I just… well, I need you to know because it’s important to me. I just think that you’re great, you’re so great and we- the two of us are _fire_ , Zayn. We’re so compatible.”

“Fire is dangerous,” Zayn points out, his throat tight.

“Fire is what you make of it: Prometheus risked everything for it.”

Zayn shakes his head and smiles.

“I’m just saying… if I had a checklist for what I wanted in a partner, you would check all of them.”

“Shut up,” Zayn says, holding Harry’s hands tighter at the same time. “Disappearing act and all?”

“Disappearing act and all,” Harry says in agreement. “I’m trying to say that I… I haven’t kept this secret on purpose, it’s just not something I tell a lot of people. Just my family know, actually.”

Zayn quirks his brow. Has Harry been talking to his family about them? He knows what’s coming, has witnessed enough men confessing their love either to him or to Louis to know the signs. He doesn’t have as much experience as Louis, though, and he can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. Harry’s not on one knee, for one, and two o’clock in the afternoon in the middle of his bakery isn’t the most romantic setting.

Zayn can get over that, though.

“You’re… I want you in my life and, to be in my life, you need to know something.” Harry guides Zayn back to his stool. The bell above the door rings as it opens. “I, well… I have a…”

“Daddy!”

For the rest of his life, Zayn won’t be able to properly explain what happens in the next few seconds. He hears the sound of a little kid and looks around Harry’s shoulder to see who it is. A boy no older than four is running across the store. He’s a dead ringer for Harry, right down to his bow-legged walk and his dimple deep in his cheek. Harry turns from Zayn with a bright grin already forming on his face and crouches down to welcome the boy- his _son_ \- into his arms.

Zayn thinks he’s going to kill Niall- _the boy looks six, my ass_ \- and also a little bit that he’s going to be sick. Though Harry’s not a typical mark, he still _is_ a mark- or a potential one, were Louis to fail with Brygg- and there are rules he and Louis follow. There are big rules and small rules but the first and most important is that they _don’t target people with young kids_.

Standing from the stool so quickly it nearly falls over, Zayn fights that same wave of anxiety away. It’s okay. Louis doesn’t know about this. Zayn hasn’t broken any rules, not really. He isn’t working Harry. Working him implies that Louis is in the game, too. They work as a team. If the two of the aren’t both involved, then it can’t be a con and that means Harry isn’t a mark and that means this little boy with brilliant green eyes and perfect brown spiral curls isn’t going to have his life twisted around just because of Zayn.

Harry’s standing with his son on his hip and turning with a smile to introduce him to Zayn and Zayn tells himself he can do this, he can get through this and disappear from Harry’s life and just deal with the fact that Louis is going to kill him when Zayn finally tells him the truth about where he’s been going when Louis is busy or gone.

“Zayn, this is my son, Bash. Bash Moreno Styles.”

“Hi Bash,” Zayn says, somehow smiling through the panic.

It’s just then that he looks up and sees a beautiful woman who is probably the original owner of the trousers Zayn is wearing. “Hello, you must be Zayn,” she says. Her voice is like velvet wrapped around a sigh and Zayn can see all the surface-level reasons Harry married her in the first place, not including the probably thousand amazing things about her.

Zayn nods and makes to move forward, thinking he’ll approach her and shake her hand or something equally inane while everything inside of him wants to run out the door and never come near this place again, when the bell rings again and the next person to catch Zayn’s eye is a _furious_ Louis walking in, his mouth pursed in a small, angry pout and his eyes narrowed into tiny slits.

Yeah. That wave of anxiety Zayn fought back only a few seconds before? It’s pushing him about a mile under the surface and is trying to drown him now.

Zayn thinks he might let it; it might be the only way out of this.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I've gathered a few inspiration notes on my blawg [here](http://iamleighbot.tumblr.com/tagged/heartbreakers%20au) if you'd like to take a look! I'll be adjusting the tags as we go and the inspo posts are a good hint at where I'm hoping this heads.


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